


Tread On My Dreams

by HelenJay



Series: The Dream Trilogy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Crossing Parallels, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Era, Ministry of Magic, No Smut, Parallel Universes, Romance, dramione - Freeform, journey story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 136,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenJay/pseuds/HelenJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is lost. Harry’s is the world in trouble now, but it’s Draco’s past that is catching up to them. Fast.</p><p>After the events of last November everyone is left reeling from Harry's journey into a parallel universe, but apparently destiny isn't done with him and his friends just yet.  The doorway between worlds is weakened and it seems near impossible for anyone to stay where they belong.  Or, is it just that where they belong is a little further from home than they thought?</p><p>"But I, being poor, have only my dreams;<br/>I have spread my dreams under your feet;<br/>Tread softly because you tread on my dreams." W.B. Yeats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Land Of Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> This is Book Two of The Dream Trilogy. Like Book One, it will be nine chapters long, made up of seven proper chapters, and prologue and an epilogue. I will update every Monday and Thursday if I can (sometimes Real Life happens, but I'll try my best to get around that). 
> 
> This book takes quite a different turn from To Dwell On Dreams, but I hope you'll still enjoy it! In many ways it's my favourite of the three, it certainly has some of my all-time favourite moments in it :-D
> 
> We finally get to the Dramione here (sorry if you've been waiting for it!) but like I said, it's not a major plot-line, just something to run along in the background. There's still enough to give you some feels though I hope!
> 
> If you're not already, make sure to follow me on Tumblr and Facebook for all the awesome extra bits and pieces that accompany the book trilogy. For artwork, collages, soundtracks, trivia, original casting for the trilogy and general HP love, please check out The HP Dream Trilogy/@thehpdreamtrilogy.
> 
> Right, I shall hand you back over into Alex's capable hands, I hope you enjoy Tread On My Dreams!
> 
> Hxxx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh there’s no need for that. Plus I’m already dead, and I really like this jacket.” Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Limbo...

Prologue -

   Land Of Confusion

 

I must have dreamed a thousand dreams

Been haunted by a million screams

But I can hear the marching feet

They’re moving into the street

 

Now did you read the news today?

They say the danger’s gone away

But I can see the fire’s still alight

There burning into the night

 

There’s too many men

Too many people

Making too many problems

And not much love to go around

Can’t you see this is the land of confusion?

 

This is the world we live in

And these are the hands we’re given

Use them and let’s start trying

To make it a place worth living in

 

Genesis

 

   The frozen landscape stretched out as far as the eye could see. Bluish light reflected blindingly from the untouched snow, and the low hanging sun’s golden glare melted the line of the horizon into one, long quivering blur. Ice clouds whirled in fits and spurts, and the wind howled like a wounded beast nursing its pride.

   A lone figure trudged across the plane, blotting the otherwise perfect whiteness. He was wrestling with a crude sort of sledge being pulled by two large creatures that looked like spiders with tennis racquets for feet. The rider was attempting to direct them by hurling raw chunks of meat in the direction he wanted them to head, but in their hast to gobble up the food they seemed more prone to tripping each other over, rather than accomplishing any great speed. A sigh drifted across the snow dunes.

   The rider, clad in furs and leather like an Inuit, had been travelling for many hours as the sun rose high then low in the sky. The sledge had turned itself over several times, and the spiders had insisted on stopping for a snooze only hours into their trek, leaving the lonely rider no choice but to huddle down and sip hot tea from a flask, attempting to dunk chocolate digestives in it as he did.

   But as the sun began to set, turning the horizon several spectacular shades of orange, a cliff face appeared in the distance. The rider let out a cry of joy, punching the air with a thickly gloved hand, and spurred his beasts on with half a dozen greenish looking steaks that they chased after with a renewed sense of frenzy.

   A crescent moon was peeking through the twilight as the sledge finally skidded to a halt amidst a shower of snow and ice. The rider turned to his spiders who looked exceedingly pleased with themselves as they panted and shook snow from their racquet-like feet.

   “Stay!” commanded the rider, and both the creatures plonked themselves down on the snow and looked up at him expectantly. “Good boys,” said the rider, hands still held up uncertainly at his pets. “Now...just wait here for daddy.”

   The one on the left scratched the back of its head with one of its feet. The one on the right belched.

   “Good boys,” muttered the rider as he crept away from them, then turned his attention to the cliff face.

   It didn’t take him long to find the entrance to the cave, it was rather large after all and the heat emanating from it had melted all the surrounding snow into muddy puddles. “Yahtzee,” he whispered triumphantly, yanking his coat off and dropping it to the ground as he ventured down the tunnel.

   A fiery glow was pulsing from where the cave veered around to the left, and it wasn’t until he was almost at the end could Alex the Watcher see what was causing it.

   “Hallo there!” he cried out cheerfully with a wave. A tingling sensation was crawling its way pleasantly up through his pirate boots, giving life back to his horribly numb feet. “I was wondering if I could trouble you for some help?”

   A small, fat dragon, almost no bigger than a toddler, sat on his hind legs atop a staggering pile of treasure. His crimson scales reflected off of the thousands of coins, gems, fine jewellery and precious relics he was nestled comfortably in as he counted notes of a currency Alex had never seen before. At his entrance, the dragon’s cobalt blue eyes slowly slid up to regard him.

   “Go. Away.” His voice was high pitched and nasally, but the fact he had a voice at all startled Alex mute for a moment as the creature shifted its eyes back down to the money in its hands.

   “Ah, you’re one of _those_ dragons,” said Alex, recovering himself and clapping his hands together. “Excellent, this should all go much smoother then.”

   The dragon sighed and did not look up this time. “Go away or I will burn you to a crisp.”

   “Oh there’s no need for that,” replied Alex, skipping forward. “Plus I’m already dead, and I really like this jacket.” He tugged at the lapels of his tailcoat and came to a halt at the bottom of the treasure mountain. “Now, do you have a name?” he asked, craning his head to address the increasingly irritable dragon. “Or shall I call you Puff?”

   The dragon slammed his notes down, causing a small avalanche of golden coins. “Do you see any other dragons in this plane? This is my world, _mine._ Why would I need a name if there’s no one else?”

   “Puff it is then,” said Alex with a click of his fingers. “I wanted to ask you about that Puff, why are you all alone, who do you watch telly with? Do you build a lot of snow dragons to keep you company?”

   The dragon, now named Puff, crossed his stubby arms over his fat tummy. “You are far more annoying than the knights and thieves I normally have to eat.” He looked Alex up and down. “You’re all scrawny though,” he whined. “You’re not going to fill me up at all.”

Alex half smiled. “I am neither a knight nor a thief, sir. I do however have a little proposition for you if you’d be willing to hear me out.”

   “No,” spat Puff.

   “Fabulous,” said Alex. “Now, I couldn’t help but notice that you like shiny things, would you say that’s accurate?”

   “You can’t have it,” growled Puff, smoke curling from around his sharp teeth. _“I_ found it, _I_ had to go all the way into _all_ those worlds, it’s all mine, _mine!”_

   Alex held his hands up apologetically. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just complimenting your hobby, I assure you. You truly have a magnificent collection.”

   Puff wiggled his bottom further into his mound of riches, sending more coins and jewels tricking down. “Thank you,” he said begrudgingly in his squeaky voice.

   “How many realities have you visited to accomplish it?”

   “Three hundred and forty two,” said Puff smugly. “I find the little cracks and I sneak in to get the goodies!”

   “That is very impressive,” said Alex solemnly, nodding his head appreciatively.  

   “You still can’t have anything,” snapped Puff, spiteful once more. “Eons I’ve been here, and not once has anyone ever stolen from me.”

   “I promise you,” said Alex patiently. “I am not going to try and rob you, I would be a fool to, you would char grill and chomp me down before I even stood a chance of escaping.”

   Puff narrowed his eyes at the flattery. “Hmph,” he said.

   “What I propose is this,” said Alex. He had been so dreadfully cold out in the snow, but now he was dripping with perspiration, his clothes plastered to his body by the heat of the dragon’s lair. Therefore, old Puff didn’t notice when he broke into a fresh sweat as he launched into his negotiation.

“I would like to simply borrow-”

   He didn’t even get the word out, Puff leapt to his tiny little legs and roared so deafeningly Alex jumped backwards several feet, which was lucky as Puff also let loose a torrent of fiery breath as well.

   _“NO ONE. STEALS FROM ME!”_

   “Borrow!” yelped Alex. “I said borrow! I would bring it back as soon as I was done, and in return I would give you an _extremely_ rare treasure, a prize you could not hope to find by yourself.”

   At that, Puff quietened instantly, sitting himself back down on his riches. “How rare?”

   “Very,” said Alex, trying not to show how palatable his relief was. “And like I said, not something you could find yourself, it’s not from any reality.”

   Puff seemed to consider this a moment. “Then it’s...from somewhere in between, like we are?”

   Alex nodded, watching carefully as the dragon mulled this over. “Limbo holds no valuables, otherwise I would have found them already.”

   Alex reached into his skinny jeans, and pulled out a single nugget of green light. Puff went very still atop his mountain. “What’s that?” he breathed, his cobalt eyes wide with hunger.

   “Potential,” said Alex, trying to keep his chest rising and falling at a normal rate. It was hot enough in here, he didn’t want to pass out from hyperventilation and leave himself lying around like an hors d'oeuvre for Puff to munch on.

   “It looks sparkly,” said Puff wistfully, climbing down his mound of wealth on all fours. And he did, the green light shone brightly from between Alex’s fingers, glittering like mirror ball.

   “Only a Watcher could get this for you,” he continued as Puff crept closer. “It’s potential energy, from possibilities that almost came into existence, but didn’t quite manage it.”

   “And it’s _pretty,”_ cooed the dragon, who was almost at the bottom of the treasure heap. He reached a clawed hand forwards, and that was when Alex snatched his arm away, curling his fingers over the light.

   “I have a whole box full of them, all for you,” said Alex hastily as Puff started to growl crossly. “But I must have what I need first.”

   Puff grinned showing far too many sharp teeth for Alex’s liking. “And what’s to stop me just killing you and taking them all anyway.”

   “They’re not here,” replied Alex. He’d thought of this possibility whilst he was making his way through his packet of digestives. “They’re buried somewhere in the snow, and you’ll never find them on your own.”

   “Who says I won’t?” argued the dragon petulantly, but Alex could see he believed him.

“You go get what I want, and I swear on all your riches I will retrieve the rest of these at once, and return your possession to you as soon as it in my power to do so. Do we have a deal?”

   Puff, crouched in the last several feet of his mountain, stared directly into Alex’s eyes for a moment. Then he reached out his stubby little hand.

   “Deal.”

   Alex waited patiently whilst Puff rooted round amongst his hoard for the particular item he wanted from him. Once he found it, and showed it to Alex as proof, he hung it around his neck until he had the rest of his payment. The little dragon didn’t need to don any outdoor wear as his body temperature was so scaldingly hot, but he did insist on fetching an ‘ancient travelling talisman’ that looked an awful lot to Alex like a teddy bear.

   Puff seemed wary of venturing outside into the snow, Alex guessed he didn’t do it very often, and when he caught sight of the two spider beasts he roared out a mouthful of flames at them. Luckily the spiders were fire-proof, one of the reasons Alex had chosen them, and they just stared at Puff with a confused expression as the snow around them melted.

   “Shall we?” asked Alex when he was quite done. Puff grumbled under his breath, but clambered up onto the sledge without anymore bother. After he’d retrieved his coat, Alex had to pile snow onto his side for several minutes to cool the metal down from Puff’s outburst. Once he was happy he wouldn’t get third degree burns he too sat on the sleigh, chunks of meat in hand for the spiders’ encouragement, and they were off.

   They didn’t need a torch with Puff’s fiery snout on board to guide them, and the millions of stars overhead gave the snowy landscape a luminous glow. But Alex was still a little nervous the spiders would be able to find their way back in the dark to the spot where they’d had their snooze and Alex had buried his box. That was until he saw the torches.

   He frowned at the spots of light as they sprung up in the distance. They had been journeying for hours now, on top of the trek they’d made this morning, and he wasn’t sure if his tired eyes were playing tricks on him. But there they were, little blossoms of light, gradually getting bigger and bigger. And so was the figure waiting to great them.

   “I knew you’d get hopelessly lost without me,” he cried as they made their approach. “So I thought I’d make myself useful!”

   Seamus Finnigan was waving and grinning as the spiders skidded to a halt and tripped over themselves to leap up and great the new Watcher. He laughed as they jumped up around him, all their feet wiggling.

   “I was doing just fine,” said Alex with mock scorn as he descended from the sledge. “Haven’t you got a reality to look after?”

   “I’m pretty sure that’s what we’re doing here,” said Seamus with a wink. He had chosen the latest in Gore Tex for his arctic parker in contrast to Alex’s furs, and was sporting some very high tech looking goggles that were presently perched on top of his forehead. There were a dozen or so LED lamps shoved into the snow in a circle around the spot Alex was pretty sure he’d dug his hole earlier, and parked a little way away was a bright red, very shiny snowmobile.

   “Show off,” said Alex with half a grin.

   “Who,” said Puff loudly. “Is he!” He was crouched ready to spring on the sleigh, his blue eyes blazing and his teeth all glowing like red hot embers. He didn’t look too happy to see Seamus.

   “Ah!” said Alex happily. “Seamus, this is my new friend Puff, Puff this is my not-so-new associate, neighbour and paintballing partner, Seamus Finnigan.”

   “My name is not _Puff,”_ huffed the red dragon. “Where are my goodies?”

   Alex walked up to Seamus’ side. “Cheerful little beggar,” quipped the young Irish boy as he did. But Alex’s eyes were on the ground, searching for where his tupperware box was hidden. “Oh, are you looking for this?”

   Alex glanced up. It seemed as well having state of the art heat-retaining technology, Seamus’ parker also had very good pockets. He waggled the tupperware now in his hand at Alex, the green nuggets of potential energy rattling around inside. Alex plucked it from his fingers and lightly cuffed him round the head through his huge squishy hat. “Give me that before you break something,” he muttered. Seamus just grinned broader.

   “Puff!” Alex called out to the dragon still crouched on the sleigh. “Here are your treasures, nineteen more to add to this one.” He pulled the original jewel of potential from his pocket again. “All yours.”

   Puff’s stubby tail swished back and forth as his brilliant eyes narrowed. Slowly, he crept off the sledge, and stalked forward warily on all fours, his feet melting puddles of snow as he went. Alex popped the lid off the box, dropped the twentieth nugget in and clipped the sides closed again. Puff stopped a couple of feet away and sniffed the air. Alex held the tupperware out towards him, and shook it again for good measure.

   As quick as lightning, Puff darted forward, snatched the box and was back in his spot a few feet away. Alex looked at his now empty hand, closed it, then shrugged as much as he could in his massive coat. “Marvellous,” he said, then turned and raised his eyebrows at Seamus. The boy held out his hands in a don’t-ask-me-this-is-your-new-friend gesture, so Alex sighed and turned back to see Puff fastidiously counting the nuggets.

   “Marvellous,” repeated Alex, clapping his hands together. “So I take it you’re-”

   “I’m _counting,”_ snarled Puff, not even looking up. Alex sighed. Once Puff had checked three times that there were indeed twenty sparkling gems, he sealed the box with a satisfied smirk. “I like these very much, if I let you borrow the amulet, will you get me more?”

   Alex raised a snow covered eyebrow. “If it does what it’s supposed to, I will personally get you five more.”

   “Ten,” declared Puff instantly.

   “Six,” countered Alex.

   “Eight.”

   “Seven,” said Alex raising a finger. “And I’ll throw in a first edition, signed copy of the White Album.”

   “Done!” cried Puff, a triumphant grin on his face. Alex tried to hide his own grin as he leaned forward to shake the dragon’s clawed hand again. He actually had two of those records.

   “I don’t really see why I should give you my amulet though,” said Puff slyly. “I could just burn up your Irish friend here and make you-”

   The spider landed on top of Puff before he even had a chance to look up. Its eight legs wrapped around the dragon’s body like a cage, and Puff shrieked and spat out flames. _“Let me out, let me out or I’ll eat you all!”_ he squalled.

   Seamus cleared his throat. Puff stopped struggling against the spider immediately, as in one of Seamus’ hands was Puff’s teddy bear from where he’d left it on the sleigh. In the other was a wicked looking ice pick. “Now,” said Seamus pleasantly. “There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt, is there?”

   Puff didn’t say a word, he just reached around his neck and pulled off a silver pendant with a purple stone hanging from it, suspended in a lose cocoon of fine silvery thread.

   Alex felt a huge weight lift off of his shoulders. “Marvellous,” he breathed with a sigh of relief, taking the amulet from between the spiders’ legs. “Now, if we’re quite done here, I’d say it’s about time to go save all of existence, wouldn’t you agree Seamus.”

   Seamus threw the teddy bear to Puff, who snatched it from the air as the spider opened out its legs, and hugged it to his fat belly.

   “I couldn’t agree more,” said Seamus.

 

 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that what you expected from the start of Book Two?


	2. The Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Some might say you keep questionable company.” Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we start off a little far away from home, but don't worry, things will return to normal soon enough! Or, normal as they can be when jumping around universes :-P

Chapter One -

   The Adventure

 

I wanna have the same last dream again

The one where I wake up and I'm alive

Just as the four walls close me within

My eyes are opened up with pure sunlight

I'm the first to know

My dearest friends,

Even if your hope has burned with time

Anything that's dead shall be re-grown

And your vicious pain, your warning sign

You will be fine

 

Hey, oh, here I am

And here we go

Life's waiting to begin

 

Angels and Airwaves

 

   The walls were dank. Moisture trickled along soft emerald moss that glistened in the shadowy torchlight, the air tasted old and bitter. Harry crouched in the small inlet of stone, knowing he had very little time to decide what to do. His mind raced too fast for him to think clearly, his ears rang and he couldn’t swallow enough breath to fill his lungs. He clutched the sword in his hands, feeling the weight of the metal reassure him, ground him, hearten him.

   The song, sweet and mournful, rang through the air, and Harry clung to it as fiercely as the hilt between his fingers. He was not alone, he had to remember that, he was not alone.

   The ground vibrated beneath his feet, and Harry knew he had to move, now. He skirted behind a pillar, shying away from the belly of the chamber, hanging onto the gloomy edges. The beast was cumbersome and hindered by blindness, but Harry could tell it smelt him, hungered for him, and would not be deterred from its pray. If only he had _more time_.

   The ghost of a boy was screaming at his pet, commanding it in a language that slipped through Harry’s thoughts like vapour. His eyes watered as they scanned the bright auditorium; he knew where he had to go, but he didn’t know if his trembling legs would carry him.

   He tried to quash the overwhelming fear with clear thinking, strategy. The ground was solid beneath his feet, the sword was cold still in his grasp. He pictured the amount of steps he was going to take, what the burst of energy would feel like, then ran.

   The ghost boy screamed, the beast reared its serpentine head, and Harry found himself skidding to a halt, raising the blade, beating the creature back. He could see her, she was so _close._ He couldn’t let anything happen to her, it was all his fault...

   The sword hit true, sliding into the creature’s skull with a sickening thud as it roared in fury. Elation washed through Harry, his thoughts already turning to the copper headed girl by the stone statue. But his victory was premature.

   The beast’s jaw clamped down, and one of its long, deadly fangs shredded into Harry’s shoulder. He heard himself scream as the blood gushed out and the poison flowed in. Burning hot light filled his body, and even as he pulled himself free he knew it was over.

The ghost boy laughed, his affection for the snake monster evaporating as soon as Harry’s defeat was ensured. The beast slumped to the ground where Harry already lay, feeling helpless as the life slipped away from him. The poison was working quickly, fighting Harry for breath as the sensation faded from his fingers. Tears leaked from his eyes, desperation holding onto consciousness. But he was dying and there was nothing he could do.

   He was dying.

   He was dying...

 

***

 

He hit the floor with a considerable amount of pain, taking the vast majority of the bedspread with him. Panting, Harry flung his arm up to the bedside cabinet, grabbed his wand and cried “Lumos!” into the darkness. It was just a nightmare, he told himself as his breathing gradually slowed down, just another nightmare.

   He leant against the bed frame, slowing his heart down and combing the shadows to comfort himself he was safe and alone. The realism of the dream was slowly ebbing away, leaving him with only the cold sweat on his skin and thudding pain in his forehead. It’s just a dream, he reassured himself again. They’re all just dreams.

   That’s what he told himself at any rate.

   He rubbed his forehead to alleviate some of the pressure, then stood and moved over to his window to watch the dawn teetering on the edge of the horizon. The back garden was dark, but Harry could still make out the stone ornaments playing hide and seek in the shrubs.

   He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full night’s sleep, wasn’t woken to the sound of his own cries, sheets in a tangle, wand in hand before the real world had fully returned to him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in the chamber with the beast, or running through a forest filled with giant spiders, or lost in a maze with only death waiting for him at the end. Dragons and werewolves and unicorn blood. These were the things that now held him hostage as he slept.

   He told himself to begin with it was the stress of the past year manifesting itself in his subconscious. Anyone who’d been through what he’d been through would have suffered repercussions, that it was normal to wake up screaming. After all, Sarah and Parvati did.

But they dreamt of battles in a far off place, of lives lost in the dark. Harry dreamt of a life that wasn’t his.

   Don’t think of that night, he instructed himself firmly, it’s not worth it. The whirl of emotions that came with that night made him feel queasy, powerless, incensed, and no good ever came of it. It was like punching a brick wall, or shouting at the sea. The violent frustration held him prisoner almost as much as the dreams did, unable to move on from the moment his life no longer became his own.

   Try as he might though, as he stared out into the night, the thoughts came creeping back. The terrible treachery, the violation of it all.

It had been almost a year. He had been at Terry Boot’s house, drinking his dad’s not-so-secret stash of firewhiskey and arguing over Quidditch until both boys had lost the ability to form a decent sentence. He’d stumbled home, expecting to get in trouble for missing his curfew at the very least, at worse for not being able to walk in a straight line. He’d focused all his energy into acting sober and responsible, and tried to talk coherently whilst his mother fed him lasagne.

   Then the darkness had come.

At moments like this, Harry remembered how he had once knocked himself out playing Quidditch, not ducked quickly enough to avoid a Bludger in a friendly against the team down the road. He would see the moment very clearly, how one minute he was flying, then the next he was on the ground with all his team mates huddled round him, calling his name. It was the instant passing of time, not the lump on his head the size of a golf ball, had been the most frightening part of the experience for him. It wasn’t like sleeping, it was nothing, nothing at all; he’d never been able to shake the feeling it was like dying.

   So one minute Harry had been attacking his pasta, obediently drinking the water his mother kept passing him, and then the next...the next he was falling to the kitchen floor, his mother and Sirius reaching to catch him, calling his name as a hurricane seemed to tear its way over the house, with nothing separating the two events except the terrifying black nothingness. He still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t died.

   Harry leant on the window sill and looked up into the night. Dark streaks of purple and blue were starting to give the sky definition, as did the stars shining around the shadowy clouds as they blew on by. Everything still looked the same, that was what got him. How could the world have just ticked along whilst he had been – where? Nobody had managed to give him a satisfactory explanation of that, not even after all this time.

   The first thing he’d noticed as he’d sat up on the cold tiles on the kitchen floor was that he was no longer drunk. His head may have been ringing, he may have felt sick, but he was definitely not inebriated anymore. His arm throbbed, the skin on his forehead stung, his eyes hurt. He was exhausted.

   “Harry?” his mother had asked in trepidation, as if unsure as to who he was. Little did Harry realise just how much she didn’t know who he was. She had hugged him so tightly he thought she might not let him go. Then he’d been wrangled into the lounge along with his dad and Remus, who had been running to the kitchen when he’d fallen, calling out his name and asking what he’d meant by ‘goodbye’? Harry had been firmly seated, and whilst Sirius tried to placate the other two men, his mum had gone upstairs to fetch Sarah.

   That was when Harry had realised something was seriously wrong. He’d noticed in the short interval that night-time seemed to have turned itself into mid-morning, but that just suggested something dodgy with Mr Boot’s whiskey rather than anything else. It was when Sarah had stepped slowly down the stairs and practically sleep-walked into their midst that Harry had begun to panic. She wouldn’t look at anyone, or even raise her head from the floor. She was trembling, her body language screamed fatigue and her hair was a tangled mess of feathers.

   It was the feathers that had bothered him the most. They were so alien, so out of place. A soft, downy invasion on the ordinary image of Sarah Potter that had prevailed for thirteen years.

   Before anyone could talk, or their mum had even come back into the room, Harry was over to his sister as she sat in their dad’s lap, demanding was she okay and what had happened. Remus and his father had frozen as soon as the words had left his mouth, confusion crossing their faces.

   Harry sat back down on his bed, then thought better of it and crossed over his room to the chest of drawers, fished out a pair of socks and pulled them on his freezing cold feet. He may not have been the best brother in the world; as appalled as he was now he knew he’d always got a kick out of teasing Sarah to the point of breaking, just because he could. But no one else was allowed to treat her like that, no one else could hurt her and he made damn sure of it. And for her sins she’d never stopped hero-worshipping him, never stopped looking up to her idiot big brother. He felt the shame creep up in him as he perched on the bed again how he could have been such an idiot to her, especially when...

   When Sirius had started talking, none of the words made any sense. Harry couldn’t find purchase in them. Parallel universes, dimensional hotspots, doppelgangers and fate. They meant nothing to him, they had no real world value. He was being told that there had been anotherHarry Potter, someone from an alternate reality who had a life that wasn’t quite like Harry’s own. Sirius had told them all how this boy had taken Harry’s body over, for almost a day and a half, and then changed his world forever. His and Seamus’.

   Harry had flat out refused to believe it to begin with, yelled at them all for being liars, refused to look at the letter his mother kept brandishing at him, demanded to go immediately to Ireland and prove Seamus was okay. But then Sarah had started to cry. Then Sarah had started to scream.

   She’d lunged for him like something rabid, shrieking how dare he call her a liar, belittle what she’d been through. Harry, along with everyone else, had been too stunned to deflect the blows. How could he doubt the fierce tears that cascaded down her face, the horrendous story retold in ragged bits and pieces? Seamus’ death, Peter’s betrayal, You-Know-Who’s defeat. It was only because of Sarah at that moment he began to slowly believe it could all possibly be true.

   She told him how the other Harry had spoken like a snake, had been able to hurt You-Know-Who just by touching him, had destroyed him with his own killing curse with nothing more than a scar to prove it.

   The scar. Harry felt the old anger light in him as marched over to the mirror in his bedroom, the one hanging from his wardrobe, and pulled up his fringe. There it was. A big, ugly bolt of lightning. Whenever he doubted it was real, that his body had walked around without him and saved the world, he made himself look at the scar.

   Everyone else certainly did. They stopped him on the street, came and found him at the house, just to gawp at The Boy Who Lived. To them it was the symbol of the new world, the end of tyranny, justice for those who had fallen in the Dark Lord’s name. To him all it showed was how his life had been high-jacked, commandeered and destroyed whilst everyone stood around and let it happen. How did _no one_ not realise he wasn’t himself? Why did _no one_ stop him, try and save him from himself, for almost thirty six hours?

   He looked at the lightning bolt that disfigured his face. His face that was now on t-shirts – he’d seen them, all silhouetted and art-deco. Mugs too, tee-towels, posters. Everyone wanted a piece of the famous Harry Potter. Apparently Rita Skeeter was in talks to pen a book. So Harry was confident it was sure to be accurate and sympathetic to his plight.

   No one ever asked about Seamus, it was always He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Always asking questions he couldn’t answer. Not caring about what really mattered. Like the fact he’d never been able to say goodbye to one of his oldest and closest friends. People didn’t like hearing about that, it put a damper on the whole ‘saved the world’ yarn.

   It took Harry a very long time, far longer than everyone else, to accept that such a thing as an alternate dimension could exist, let alone that a different Harry had crossed over and been on a personal joyride. It was probably Seamus’ funeral that had finally sealed it; there was no way to refute the pale and lifeless face that looked up at him from the open coffin, no matter how much he wanted to. Because Harry knew, beyond all uncertainty, that he never would have let that happen. He never would have let Seamus put himself in danger, never let him take the fall for him. Apparently, this other Harry hadn’t been so careful.

   What was most suffocating though, what was the hardest to swallow, was that outside their close circle of family and friends, nobody knew the truth about the dimensional leap. No one knew it wasn’t Harry himself who had defeated You-Know-Who, not even people like Terry. Because Sirius argued fervently that not only would Harry be at great risk from people wanting to interrogate and even experiment on him, who was there to say other people wouldn’t try and exploit these weaknesses between universes, mess with the natural order of things for their own personal gain?

   So Harry had to suffer in silence. Over the next few days, when people from the Ministry, from the press, started coming round and asking questions, his family decided it best for Harry to tell the truth; that he couldn’t remember a thing. They blamed it on post traumatic stress, which some people bought, and some people, like Dolores Umbridge, did not. They tried to swing the interest round to the fact he was the Heir of Gryffindor, another thing Harry had had to come to terms with and the Daily Prophet had a field day over.

   Terry ranted about the outrageousness of sending an underage wizard to fight the most evil and powerful wizard of all time, and told him he had every right to forget the whole thing. He said it served them right and damn Wizarding Weekly if they didn’t have enough for a double page feature. Harry had learnt to sit and listen to these outbursts, saying just enough so as not to be suspicious, saying not enough to escape the fact he was lying to one of the only friends he had left.

   Except for Parvati of course. Harry and Sirius had travelled to Leister to explain everything to her in person. Sirius had more or less appointed himself the expert on the whole parallel universe affair, and Harry had to admit once he started actually believing it was real, he was very grateful to him for doing all the talking. He was able to discuss it much more efficiently than Harry, who just felt sullied and torn apart at any mention of it.

   Parvati had had a similar reaction to Harry, but after the initial shock he was immensely relieved to find she felt just as betrayed by this other Harry as he did. She said she felt duped, tricked, that Seamus had given his life over false pretences. Her anger gave Harry gravitas, but it seemed to make everyone else uncomfortable.

   No matter her personal views though, she and Sarah had been instrumental in Harry’s interviews with the Ministry, helping fill in the blanks, giving them the answers they wanted. Between them they could recount Harry’s actions for the entire night, and with nothing they could get from Harry (even after using the Veritaserum truth potion) they had to accept them as accurate.

   The Prophet was happy to take whatever the girls or anyone else said and turn it into Harry’s words anyway, not willing to lose the beacon of hope that lit up their articles in the wake of the rebellion. They needed a face to define this brave new world, and his was the one on the t-shirts so nobody else’s would do.

   After Parvati’s visit had come a Muggle-born girl called Granger. It seemed this other Harry knew her in his own world and had gone to her for help, so when Sirius and he had knocked on her door she hadn’t been surprised at all by their story, only sad that the other Harry had left without saying goodbye. She had helped Harry out by interviewing with the Ministry and corroborating everything Parvati had said, but other than that Harry didn’t feel he owed her anything. She was just a living reminder of everything he had lost. And in return, she seemed weary of him as he’d sat in her parents’ tooth-medic waiting room, almost disappointed that he’d been returned to his rightful body. It didn’t endear her to him. In fact, Harry had insisted she not be invited to Seamus’ funeral despite his mother’s protests. Parvati had agreed, and together they had convinced the Finnigans to leave her name off the list. Hers and a certain no good Slytherin.

   Which led them to the last visit; Harry could barely believe his ears when Sirius had told him. Malfoy Manor. Harry had kicked up a real fuss, refusing to set foot in such a place, but Remus had stood up for Malfoy – or _Draco_ as they liked to call him – saying he was a changed man. And his mother and Sirius said they’d promised the other Harry they’d look after him. As far as Harry was concerned he didn’t owe either ‘Draco’ or the Harry thief a single thing.

   At this he grabbed one of the many trainers littering his bedroom floor and hurtled it at the wall by the door, tearing his Weird Sisters poster. They were used to it by now, but the band members still looked peeved as usual. Because Harry threw a lot of things at that wall now. Because as of a few months ago, Draco Malfoy had been living on the other side of it.

   Apparently he was getting too lonely all by himself in his own massive house, so Harry’s mother had insisted they make a magical extension and create another bedroom to take him in. Harry had been convinced everyone had taken a leave of their senses and would return to normal soon enough, but here he was, still throwing trainers.

   As a result he’d spent as little time as possible at home since the move, escaping to Parvati’s or Terry’s whenever he could. And Parvati generally accompanied him when he did have to come back here, so he’d not had to spend much face time with Malfoy at all.

   He laid back on his bed, feeling shattered, as he thought of Parvati. He wasn’t really sure what their relationship was anymore. He certainly barely spent any time without her, and united by their grief for Seamus and their anger at anyone connected to the dimensional leap or that night in Germany they had grown closer than they ever had before, in more ways than one. If there was one thing he was sure of nowadays, it was that he felt more able to take on the world when Parvati was by his side.

   His eyelids drooped despite his best efforts as the grey dawn slowly crept over the trees and into the garden. He didn’t want to sleep, but he knew his body needed to.

To Harry’s mind, it had been one thing after another since last November, the body swapping had just been the start of it. After he’d learned the truth he’d had to accept it, after he’d accepted it he had to hide it. And then the dreams had come. Slowly at first, sporadically. Dreams of duels and monsters and loneliness.

   But then they came again and again, relentlessly, every time he closed his eyes. They weren’t like normal dreams that vanished as soon as consciousness reclaimed him, they became seared into his memory. Because, he eventually worked out, that’s what they were. Memories.

   His memories.

Over time it had became clear that not only had this interloper invaded Harry’s life and wrecked it almost beyond recognition, he had left echoes behind him to resonate through Harry whilst he slept, to torture him.

   He couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone, not even Sirius. His pride told him that this other Harry could try all he liked, but he wasn’t going to let him affect his life any further than he already had. An easy moral to have in the day, harder when he was once again sat wide awake in his bed in the middle of the night staring at shadows and trying not to think of the mess his life had become.

   Not all the dreams were nightmares, some were ordinary memories of everyday things – birthdays, Christmases, playing Quidditch and going to school. Even though Harry still felt tainted by these imposed recollections, they faded with far more ease once the lights were on and sleep was far away. All except one; and out of them all, this was actually the dream that Harry feared the most.

   He would find himself, small and alone, sitting in darkness before a large mirror in a cold stone room. The mirror called to him like a siren on a rock, enticing him in. He would see his family standing in the reflection, and in the dream it would feel like his whole family but Sarah had never been there, not once. They would wave to him, and his mother would cry as he reached for them, a deep and torturous longing encompassing him until he would tear himself into waking again. What kind of a world were his family only accessible through a trick of light?

   He hoped he never found out.

   Against his better judgement, Harry closed his eyes and tried to relax. He knew he only had an hour or two before he would have to get up, and he was going to need as much sleep as he could get for the day ahead.

   And who knew? Maybe he wouldn’t dream.

 

***

 

   Sarah Potter froze mid-step on the stairway that led down from her bedroom. Her eyes bore into the wall separating her from Harry’s room, her wand poised in her hand. She’d heard a noise, a thud, that travelled even through the wood and plaster of the house. She made no sound as she breathed shallowly, ignoring the light-headed feeling that it gave her.

   It was just a noise, she told herself. This was her own house, there was nothing dangerous here and she was safe. Logically she knew it was true, but it still took a few minutes to really convince herself Harry was just throwing things at Draco’s room again, and carry on down the landing.

   She’d pulled a pair of stripy socks up to her knees, but her pyjamas were only a pair of shorts and a faded Holyhead Harpies t-shirt; the days may have been hot of late, but the nights were starting to make up for it in their coldness, and she shivered as she padded into the kitchen.

   She never slept when she was supposed to anymore, and never for very long. It was not unusual to find herself wide awake in the small hours of the morning, rummaging through cupboards to satisfy her grumbling stomach that complained of missed meals and insufficient amounts of vegetables.

   Sarah found herself staring at a jar of Honeyduke’s finest chocolate covered jelly-babies, undecided as to whether or not she really wanted any. She ran her tongue stud over the back of her teeth, making a clacking noise that vibrated along her jaw. Greta said that her new eating and sleeping habits were unremarkable considering what she’d been through last year. She also said that expressing herself creatively was healthy no matter how alarming it might be at times. Hence the tongue stud.

   Sarah smiled. Her mum had taken her to get all her new piercings, just how she always took her to see Greta, which is probably why she understood a lot more. Her dad was less approving, but her mum always shrugged it off saying she could take them out whenever she wanted. They’d both drawn the line however at a tattoo that said ‘I survived Death Eater Mountain’, and in retrospect Sarah begrudgingly agreed. Though she wouldn’t admit it out loud.

   Sarah knew Greta was expensive, and that several people were chipping in to cover the cost of her hourly rates, but she knew deep down it was worth it. The past few months had been awful, plain and simple. Even finding the words to talk about the night of the kidnap had seemed like an insurmountable first hurdle, but when Kingsley Shacklebolt had recommended Greta to go to, the words had eventually come. They were accompanied by weeks of destroying her room, screaming at anyone who approached her (including several members of the press and Ministry) and the inability to stomach any food whatsoever, but after a while the fury had died. Sarah learned that she could ransack her room all she liked, but when she was the one who had to put it back together the carnage became less cathartic. She realised that eating was actually one of the only things that comforted her when confusion and doubt made the world spin, and by talking to people like the Ministry she was in fact helping Harry out.

   Harry. Sirius had warned her as kindly as he could not to divulge too much to Greta about his being from another dimension, but it didn’t matter anyway. When Sarah talked about how she felt her brother had been a different person in Germany, and couldn’t possibly understand because he hadn’t really been there, Greta took it purely in psychological terms. She would nod earnestly and ask Sarah how that made her feel.

   That was her favourite question, and to begin with it had driven Sarah mad. There was never much to throw in Greta’s sparse office, but Sarah had managed to tip over her chair a few times before admitting that it never really made her _feel_ better in the end. So she would sit, and she would talk about whatever was in her head. It wasn’t always Germany, or Harry, or how she had seen Seamus Finnigan die. She saw the world in a completely different light and it angered her. Her old cares and woes seemed trivial to the point of embarrassment now, and when she would explain her troubled relationships to Greta, her fears about the world and her place in it, she would always find the path to make her feel better, more in control.

   Sighing, Sarah finally caved in to the jelly-babies, yanking the lid off the jar. She was aware of the way her appearance had changed since last November, but her and Greta had come to the conclusion it was her way of shedding the little girl who had found herself at the mercy of the Death Eaters. Her long black hair was all choppy now and she liked to streak it with different colours, normally purple or blue. Her ears now held several studs, there was a bar in her belly button and a small crystal on one side of her nose. Most of her clothes had gone to the charity shop in the village, and she and her best friend Natalie McDonald had spent long days poking around vintage shops for bargains to refuel her wardrobe with. Sarah liked the idea of giving the clothes she bought a second chance at life, even if it often meant being ripped apart and cobbled back together again.

   Sarah was aware her bad habits with food had meant she’d put on quite a bit of weight. Natalie told her sincerely that she’d been too damn skinny in the first place, so she wasn’t to worry about it for a second, but it had taken some getting used to. She leant on the big wooden table and bit the head off a jelly-baby, which turned out to be yellow, her least favourite. She spat it into the bin then tried again, finding a much more pleasant pink one to dismember.

   Her weight was certainly not the only thing she’d had to get used to. The world was shifting dramatically everyday to the point she barely recognised it. With You-Know-Who’s regime dismantled the world had to find its feet again quickly and fill the vacuum of power he had left behind. Gradually people began to accept they no longer had to live in constant fear, and curfews were lifted and Floo pathways opened up. But it was within her own family Sarah had noticed the biggest shift. She saw the way her father and mother acted. Her mum had been closer to the other Harry, and she and Sirius had known who he was before he’d returned home. Her dad had known nothing, and she could see the way he sided with her brother on the matter. There was a coldness growing between her parents that scared Sarah more than her time in Germany ever had.

And Harry – well Harry was a stranger to her now. Greta said his distancing was part of his guilt at feeling responsible for what had happened to her, but she knew how angry he was at the other Harry, how bitter and twisted he saw it all and that was why he pulled back from everyone. He blamed them all for what had happened to Seamus, for what had happened to him and his body whilst the other Harry had been here.

   But that other Harry had faced death for Sarah, had crossed a continent and offered his own life for hers. She could not share her true brother’s rage, and neither could their mum, and so he removed himself from them as much as he could.

   He didn’t blame Parvati though, Sarah thought, biting into another jelly-baby and licking the chocolate from her fingers. He was always with Parvati bloody Patil. Sarah decided to put the lid back on the jar before she gave herself tummy ache, and poured herself some pumpkin juice to wash the sugar from her teeth. She had never been very fond of Parvati, but now she couldn’t stand the silly girl. Her hysterics fuelled Harry’s irrationality, and she always stank of cigarette smoke. Sarah had asked her mum a while ago if she was now Harry’s girlfriend. She had scoffed something rude into her cup of tea and told her ‘I certainly hope not.’

   A noise had Sarah’s wand in her hand and the juice spilled on the table before her poor brain even had a chance to catch up. Her heart thumped as she tried to place it, remembering all the self defence moves Sirius had taught her. Now she was really listening, and not chewing or scuffing the wooden seats about, she could hear it again and again, almost rhythmically. It was an extremely faint tapping sound, like whatever was connecting was covered in cloth and muffled almost to the point of silence. Feeling the anger flare in her, Sarah stood and began edging her way towards it. The logical part of her brain knew the chances of there being intruders in the house was minimal. The part of her brain that was ordering adrenalin to fly around her system argued it had happened before and this time she would poke their eyes out if they dared mess with her.

   Sucking up her courage, she spun around the corner into the family room where she felt the noise was coming from. What she saw, however, brought her up short. For there, sat at the dusty grand piano, was Draco Malfoy. He had his back to her as his fingers moved deftly across the keys, creating that soft thudding noise Sarah had heard. He must have put a silencer charm on the melody, but she could still hear the hammers hitting the strings repeatedly.

   He wore a grey t-shirt and navy tracksuit bottoms, and his blond hair had at least been tousled on if not actually slept on. Bare feet worked the peddles, and Sarah could see the tension in the muscles between his shoulders and his neck. Curious, she stepped forward, breaking through the bubble of the silencer charm. The music washed over her, chilling and beautiful.

   “The Moonlight Sonata,” she breathed, gazing down at the keys. The second she spoke Draco’s fingers lifted from the instrument and hung there.

   “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he said. He only half turned his head towards her, but enough that she caught the smile playing on his lips.

   “Shouldn’t you?” she shot back, throwing herself onto the stool, forcing him to budge up. He laughed a little, holding onto the stool as he leant back and regarded her. Sarah stuck her wand back in the elasticised waist of her shorts, then laid her own fingers onto the white and black keys. “I didn’t know you played?” she said. She’d not touched the piano since Wormtail had snatched her and handed her over to the Death Eaters. She could still see the sheet music fluttering to the floor as she realised the man she’d always thought of as an uncle had a wand pointed at her head.

   Sarah hadn’t known what to think when her mother had told her Draco was going to be moving in with them. Her dad talked stiffly about how it was really their duty to look after him since his own mother was dead and father in prison. He said they owed him Sarah’s life, but he didn’t exactly seem thrilled. Her mum had Remus and Sirius on her side though, and the move had taken place in less than a week.

   Harry had naturally raised all manner of Hell, and disappeared to Parvati’s for so long Sarah lost count of the days. He’d said Draco was a traitor and a liar, but in Harry’s absence Sarah had found herself drawn to Draco Malfoy, the tall quiet boy with white hair like a halo. She’d seen the way he’d tried to help Seamus as he’d died, how he and his friend Blaise had stood in front of her when they thought danger was approaching.

   She’d won him over as soon as she’d asked what his little pet ball of sunshine was called. ‘Oi you,’ had been his answer, and Sarah had liked the way he’d raised his eyebrow. She admonished him, and re-christened the poor thing ‘Sunny’ immediately, which earned her another eyebrow and even a laugh. She’d then introduced them both to Barney the tortoise, and from that moment she had never seen anything treacherous about him at all. In fact he’d acted far more like a brother than Harry had since his arrival, something Greta said her brother was probably also resentful about.

   That and Sarah much preferred Blaise to Parvati. Blaise had showed her how to put thick black eyeliner on, and taught her her favourite potions spells. Parvati made fun of Blaise’s scar on her cheek too, but only when Harry wasn’t around so she must have known how hurtful her words were. Sarah had told her Blaise was more beautiful than she would ever be, even with the scar, and that was when Parvati had stopped talking to her.

   “That’s all I can play,” Draco admitted, running his fingers along an F and G sharp. “My mother taught me.” Sarah had always been a fan of Beethoven, especially his haunting sonata, but had never advanced enough to play it herself.

   “That’s okay,” she told him, taking her hands away from the keys and looking at him. “It suits you,” she said with a smile. “It can be your party piece.”

   Draco grinned and rubbed the back of his head. “I dread to think what kind of party anyone would want to hear that at,” he said, and it was Sarah’s turn to laugh.

   They both spent a few moments staring at their laps, the anxiety rising between them. “Are you scared?” Sarah eventually asked. Draco pulled at his fingers.

   “Terrified,” he admitted.

   Sarah blew out a breath of air. “I can’t believe it’s tomorrow,” she bemoaned. Greta had warned her that when things were out of her control she was bound to become worried or angry. Right now she just felt like being sick.

   “I guess it had to happen someday,” said Draco solemnly. Then he forced a smile that almost reached his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be fine though,” he said, giving quick tug to the hair Sarah still managed to hang in a ponytail. She yelped and swatted him away, nervous laughter releasing some of her pent up tension.

   “You’ll be fine too,” she told him genuinely. “I mean, you’ve done it before.”

   Draco couldn’t quite mask his face as it fell. “Yeah,” he sighed, staring out the window as his ball of sunshine bounced about happily. “That’s what scares me the most.”

 

***

 

   The Muggle train screamed as it tore through Kings Cross station, making Draco shudder as he stared apprehensively at the barrier between platforms nine and ten only a few feet in front of him.

“Go on, son,” said Sirius reassuringly, and gave him a small nudge in the back. Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then pushed his trolley towards platform Nine and Three-Quarters, squashing the wave of nausea that was rolling up from somewhere around his stomach region.

   Feeling he was on the other side, he peeked between his eyelids to witness the madness unfurling beside the brilliant scarlet form of the Hogwarts Express. “Oh,” said a clipped and unfortunately familiar voice by his side. “It’s you.”

   Draco had the forethought to pull the wonky trolley with his trunk on away from the barrier before regarding Parvati Patil on the other side. “Hello Parvati,” he sighed as he leant over and unclasped the box where he’d temporarily had to convince Sunny to stow. He’d been shining between the cracks in the wood before, but now he was quite dull when he burst back into the open air. Parvati raised an eyebrow as he zoomed about, drinking in the natural light that streamed through the high glass ceiling that turned King’s Cross station into a veritable greenhouse.

   “Still got that stupid spell going I see,” she smirked, taking a drag from the cigarette in her right hand, the left wrapped defensively around her waist. She tapped her foot by her stack of ugly pink suitcases as Sunny came floating back down, a great deal fatter than he’d just been.

   “Still smoking those cheep fags I see,” said Draco coldly as Sarah and Lily Potter came flying through the wall between them.

   Sarah spun around and gawped at the barrier. “That was _awesome!”_ she cried and turned to her mother. “Can we do it again!”

   “Of course,” said Lily, bending over and looking fairly green. “At Christmas.”

   “Good morning Mrs P,” simpered Parvati, not even having the grace to put out her cigarette. “How are you?”

   “Fine Parvati, thank you,” said Lily stiffly as she ushered Sarah out of the way as Remus and Sirius jumped through the wall, landing where the girls had just been standing. Sirius was still such a child at times, thought Draco with a grin as he punched Remus’ arm, pointed excitedly at the big red engine, and loped off for a closer inspection. Remus shook his head and followed, smiling. Parvati didn’t even notice as Sunny bopped down and absorbed the fiery tip of her cigarette, extinguishing it tidily.

   Harry and James were the last of the group through. Parvati practically squealed and flung her arms around the younger Potter, who reciprocated enthusiastically enough but it didn’t escape Draco’s notice how quickly he broke off the embrace. Parvati was totally unaware though as she grabbed his hand, flicked her dead butt away and seized her case. She marched the two of them off, chatting happily as they disappeared into the throng.

   Draco heard Lily sigh and sneak a glance at James, but he was staring at the Hogwarts Express and didn’t see. “Is it like you remember?” Sarah asked, attempting to pick up the atmosphere between the four of them.

   “It’s smaller,” said Draco and James at the same time. James actually smiled at Draco, then slipped his hands in his jeans and sloped off to find his friends.

   “He’s thinking about Peter,” said Lily to no one in particular. Draco saw Sarah stiffen ever so slightly, but she shook it off and grabbed her trolley.

   “Come on,” she said brightly. “I promised Natalie we’d get good seats, and they all be gone at this rate.”

   Draco had not known much about Sarah Potter before he’d moved to Godric’s Hollow; she’d not been old enough to go to school when Draco had attended, and on that fateful night back in November he’d just sat by her in The Dark Lord’s auditorium after Seamus had died, waiting to Floo back to England.

   It had not been easy for Draco in many ways after they had returned. He’d travelled back to Malfoy Manor, hoping he would find some sort of closure there. Instead he had found echoey corridors and unpleasant memories. The first few days had passed in a blur of nothingness, all he could really remember was his first, long, extremely hot shower. Then Sirius had contacted him saying he and Harry were coming to visit, and he was filled with hope and purpose again. The consideration, and eventual respect, Harry had shown him on their quest had moved him like no other person had since his mother. Harry’s determination and wilfulness to see the good in him had made him feel worthy, part of something important and bigger than his own woes and grief.

   As soon as Potter had stepped through the fireplace, he’d known it was all over. This was not the real Harry, but at the same time it was the Harry he had always known. Sirius had been put out by how quickly Draco had accepted his stories about dimensional leaps and alternate realities, but Draco needed very little persuasion to see that this was not the Harry that he had travelled with.

   Harry’s departure cut deep, almost like betrayal. In his heart he knew it wasn’t true, that Harry had just gone home to his own world as very well he should, Draco didn’t resent him that. He resented the poor excuse for a shadow that he had left in his wake. This Harry, the Harry of his world, would not listen to reason, would not budge on his anger at Draco for the crimes he had committed as a child, or mistrust of the family he was born into. He blamed Draco as much as the doppelganger Harry for Seamus’ death, for stealing his life making him famous for something he didn’t do.

   When Lily had persuaded him to move in with her family a few months ago, Draco was sure Sarah would feel the same way as her brother. But the trembling girl from the forest was long gone. In her place stood a young woman with very firm idea of her own identity, and an even clearer understanding of how misguided her brother had become. She had come to Draco of her own accord, and Draco had been very glad of it. It was in her he saw the ghost of the true Harry, the brother she should have had, and he very much liked having her around.

   They heaved all the heavy trunks onto the train as the Marauders returned with a slightly disgruntled looking Harry, Parvati still clinging to his hand. “I thought you’d like to say goodbye to your firstborn,” James said jokingly to Lily, ruffling his son’s hair. Sirius had obviously said something to cheer him up, which Draco was grateful for. He saw the way the Potters were now; not that he’d known them before, but he could see the wedge the events of last November had driven between them. He feared he was only adding to it by moving into their home, but Sirius always insisted his best friend just needed a good kick up the arse and things would go back to normal.

   Harry reluctantly smiled and hugged his mum goodbye. Draco caught the tears in her eyes, despite the brave front she was trying to put on. “You take care of yourself,” she said thickly. Harry promised he would be fine. When she released him Parvati dove in for a hug too, but Lily quickly grabbed her by the shoulders, gave her an awkward pat, and told her to take care too.

   The two of them disappeared as soon as Harry had hugged the men. “See you in a bit,” he called over his shoulder to Sarah just before they got lost in the crowd of students and anxious parents. Slightly miffed, Sarah was the next to get her goodbyes from everyone, and they were a good deal more lengthy and heartfelt than her brother’s. Draco stood awkwardly, glad for her that she had such a caring family, but desperately trying to swallow the lump in his throat as he inadvertently thought of his own mother. He hoped she would have given him the same kind of send off, shown the same degree of affection, but time was starting to play tricks with his memory, and he couldn’t say for sure how his mother would have reacted to anything anymore.

   It was at that moment Lily Potter swung round and caught him in a tight embrace. He was so surprised it took him a few moments to respond. He let his arms wrap around her as well, and realised it had been a very long time indeed since he had been held by anybody. She let him go and took him by the shoulders, studying him with wet eyes. “People will be mean to you, Draco,” she said. He swallowed.

   “Um, okay,” he said uncertainly.

   “You are not to listen to them,” she carried on. “Not one word. We’ve all made mistakes in life, but not everyone has the strength to learn from them, to repent like you have. So you are never to forget who you truly are, do you understand?”

   Draco was slightly overwhelmed by the ferocity of her words. She let go of him, and put her arm around Sarah, waiting for his answer.

   “I won’t,” he said, trying to take some of that ferocity for himself but not doing a very good job. “I won’t let you down.”

   “Sod us,” said Sirius, brashly as he too pulled him into a hug. “Don’t let yourself down. You brought down an empire. You’re Han Solo.” Draco didn’t understand the reference but it sounded sincere. Remus hugged him too, and even James gave him a strong hand shake.

   “Good luck,” he said. Then after a thought; “Do me a favour would you? Keep an eye on this one here, make sure she’s not too much trouble for those poor teachers.”

   “I’m never trouble!” protested Sarah as the others laughed.

   “Are you kidding?” said James in mock outrage. “You’re my daughter, I would expect nothing less than outright mayhem.”

   Draco was extremely touched James had charged him with Sarah’s well being – even if it was a joke, he hadn’t asked Harry to do it.

   The whistle was blowing and Draco tried to help Sarah onto the train, but she just hoped on in front of him and poked that tongue stud out at him with a wink. The doors closed and they leant out to wave to the Potters, Sirius and Remus. Lily had tears streaming down her face now, but she was laughing and smiling as James reached around her back and rubbed her arm. “We’ll write everyday!” called Sarah, who Draco could see was also crying despite her best efforts.

   “No you won’t,” sobbed Lily cheerfully. The train jerked into motion, and they began picking up momentum down the platform, rushing past other students’ tearful families until the Potters and Marauders were nothing but a smudge in the distance.

   “Wow,” said Draco, letting a smile creep onto his face as he turned to Sarah in the carriage entrance, pulling the window in the door up. “You look a right mess.”

   “Bugger off,” said Sarah, smacking his arm.

   “Making girls cry again, Draco?”

   He recognised the voice instantly, but Sarah was quicker to react. “Blaise!” she cried, launching herself at the tall mixed-race girl standing in the doorway leading to the train’s corridor. Blaise Zabini let herself be hugged, patting the youngest Potter good humouredly on the head. “I like what you’ve done with your make-up,” said Blaise when Sarah finally pulled away, happily sniffing back old tears. She laughed and rubbed at the black mascara dripping from her eyelashes.

   Blaise fixed Sarah’s face with a flick of her wand. As proficient as she was with make-up, she had not even attempted to cover the scar that still slashed across her cheek, the one she had received during the battle in Germany.

   The Malfoys had always been a proud, superficial family, and Draco had predictably grown up with the slightly distasteful habit of holding appearance and looks in very high regard. But it was for this reason Blaise had been allowed to spend so much time with him when they were growing up; her beauty even as a child was remarkable and Draco wouldn’t have been surprised if Lucius had been planning to marry them off one day.

   Blaise was Draco’s sister though as far as he was concerned, and had never felt drawn to her romantically. That didn’t mean he wasn’t pained to see her lovely face torn apart by that enchanted blade the way it had. He’d found it hard to look beyond it to begin with, and once apologised for the disfigurement that she now wore every day. She’d offered to give him one of his own if he ever insulted her like that again. She wore that scar like a badge of honour, and Draco pitied anyone that challenged her on it. He knew what she could do with a sword.

   “I’d better go find Natalie,” said Sarah, inspecting her new make-up in a hand mirror she’d pulled from one of her many layers of clothing. “She doesn’t know anyone else.”

   “Neither does Armand,” said Blaise, referring to her younger brother who would be starting in the first year. “I should probably get back to him soon. I left him guarding our compartment – he doesn’t know how to use a wand yet, so he just tends to stab people with it.” As usual Draco didn’t know if she was kidding or not.   Blaise turned her dark brown eyes to Sarah. “How about you and your friend join us. Then we won’t know anyone together.”

   Sarah looked very pleased with the invitation. They began walking down the corridor to their left, but when Draco followed Blaise held her hand up to his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

   “Er...with you?” he said, perplexed.

   “No you’re not,” said Blaise, a hint of playfulness in her voice that Draco recognised all too well.

   “Can I ask why?”

   Blaise pretended to sigh as Sarah watched with wide eyes. “Such a drama queen.”

   “Princess Rah,” he retorted automatically.

   Blaise pointed along the opposite corridor. “She’s down that way.”

 

***

 

   It didn’t take long for Draco to remember why he had been dreading coming back to school, and he was suddenly wishing he’d not left Blaise and Sarah heading in the other direction.

   The younger students generally took no notice of him as he began peering into the compartments along the train carriage. There were plenty of Muggle-Borns too who had no idea who he was. But the Pure-Bloods from the fifth year or above, almost all of them remembered his face from before. And they were not happy to see him.

   Some stared open mouthed, others shouted out. Some just looked plain scared which Draco felt was probably the worst. It wasn’t until he entered the third carriage along though that he really got into trouble. He realised instantly this particular compartment was full to busting with people he recognised as Gryffindors as well as the odd Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and turned to move on right away. But a boy with dreadlocks spotted him through the glass – Lee or Luke Draco half registered as being his name as he called out to his companions.

   “That’s Draco Malfoy?”

   The door was thrown open and before Draco could even get his hands up in protest he was seized by a girl and two more boys, hauled into the compartment and pressed up against the outer window.

   “What are you doing here?” demanded the girl; her name was Angelina and Draco was sure she had played Quidditch for Gryffindor.

   Draco tried to keep his cool, but there were seven or eight wands now pointed at his face and several hands grabbing at his clothes. The glass was cold on his back and he could hear the wind whistling through the pane as the train sped along. “Going to school,” he said evenly. He wanted to say something clever like ‘synchronised swimming’ or ‘looking for trolls’, but luckily sense got the better of him. Angelina looked upset, as did a few of the others, but the remainder just looked mad.

   “But...why would they let you back?” she asked.

   “Why aren’t you in Azkaban?” demanded a Chinese boy.

   “With your dad!” added another.

   Anthony Goldstein, a Ravenclaw Draco definitely remembered from Charms lessons, stepped up and thrust his wand underneath Draco’s chin. “You let them in,” he growled, blue eyes not blinking as he stared Draco down.

   “What do you think you’re doing?” rang out a voice. Several people jumped aside, and there she was.

   Hermione Granger.

   Draco thought he might possibly die of embarrassment right there and then.

   The last time he had seen her, she had been bloody, sleep deprived and carrying half of the Black Forest in her tangled hair. That’s how he’d spent all these months remembering her. The girl that held her brand new wand out in front of her was almost unrecognisable. Her hair was sleek, shining and cut into layers that hung poker straight around her face. Her clothes were pristine and well fitted, her nails clean and polished, and her make-up expertly applied.

   She looked furious.

   “I said,” she repeated loudly, “what the Hell do you think you’re doing!” She stepped forward, wand directed at those clustered around him. “Let him go this instant!”

   “Oh no, it’s okay!” cried Angelina hastily. “That’s Draco Malfoy.”

   Everyone started talking at once.

   “He let You-Know-Who in the school.”

   “People died because of him!”

   “You’re Muggle-Born, I guess you wouldn’t know, don’t worry.”

   “He’s a traitor!”

   “He shouldn’t be allowed back.”

   “I was thinking we could hang him out the window for a bit,” finished Anthony. His friend, Michael something-or-other, sniggered in agreement.

   “Or we could just chuck him out and let him walk.” He poked his wand frighteningly close to Draco’s eye. “How would you like that, Malfoy?”

   But Draco’s eyes had never left Hermione’s face. The shame was burning through him, his face must have been as hot and as red as an ember; why did she have to see him like _this,_ why did she come in _now?_

   “His name,” she said in a voice that was dangerously low. “Is Draco. And he helped bring down Lord Voldemort.” All the students in the compartment went very still then, the only sound was the rocking of the train and the faint whistling of the wind.

   “You said his name?” said a small Hufflepuff girl.

   “What do you mean?” asked Angelina, cutting across the other girl. “Harry Potter defeated... _You-Know-Who,”_ she said pointedly.

   “Because Draco risked his life to bring him there,” replied Hermione, fixing the Chaser with her wand. “Now let him go.”

   “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the Prophet,” chuckled Lee with the dreadlocks pleasantly. “You’ll learn that soon enough.”

   “Draco’s name was never mentioned by the Prophet or any other publication,” snapped Hermione, retraining her wand on him. “The Ministry didn’t want anyone still loyal to Voldemort taking revenge.”

   “Stop saying the name!” cried the little Hufflepuff girl.

   Lee raised an eyebrow. “How would you know,” he asked. “You’re Muggle-Born aren’t you, you don’t have our papers. You don’t even know who you’re standing up for.”

   “Don’t I?” she said, her lip curling. “I’m giving you one last chance to let him go.”

   “Or you’ll do what?” cried Michael. “You’re just a Muggle-”

   Her Expelliarmus spell hit him before the words were even half done. He whacked into the side of the compartment, the wind knocked out of him completely. Half the wands in the room were instantly swung in Hermione’s direction, the others remained uncertainly on Draco.

   “Yeah,” he said, unable to help the grin spreading on his face. “You might want to be nice to her.”

   “What the Hell’s your problem!” accused Anthony, his wand still in Draco’s throat as Michael struggled to his feet.

   “You,” Hermione challenged. “That boy saved my life and helped bring down the Death Eaters. And you’re trying to shove him out of a moving train.”

   “He betrayed the school!” said Angelina indignantly.

   “Because his father coerced him and his mother was held hostage,” Hermione told them hotly. “And then they murdered his mother anyway.”

   The smile vanished from Draco’s face as what felt like a glacier tore through his insides. Some of the students lowered their wands and gawped at him. He looked back, uncertain what to say or do. He’d barely told anybody about his mother, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about people who had just been threatening him knowing.

   “How were we supposed to know that?” grumbled Michael, folding his arms defensively.

   “Well now you do,” said Hermione, her wand still held high. “And I think it’s about time you gave us some peace.” They looked back at her until she rolled her eyes. “That means you should _leave.”_

   “This is our compartment!” said Anthony indignantly.

   “That was before you tried to assault my friend,” she replied. “Move.” The students looked at her as if she was mad, but when she failed to back down they began to slink off, gathering up their bags and lunches awkwardly. “There are plenty of other booths, I promise,” she told them curtly, following the last ones out with her wand as they slammed the door behind them.

   There was a beat. Then her wand clattered to the floor, she fell into the seat and began to shake. “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh God oh God oh God.”

   Draco was still pressed up against the window pane, but after a few moments decided to slowly peal himself off. “Hey,” he whispered, moving over to her and taking her hands between his. “Hey, hey it’s alright.”

   “What the Hell did I do? I just got so mad,” she said, still staring into the middle distance. “I’ve only been here five minutes, they’ll all hate me.”

   Draco cupped her face with his hand and finally got her to look at him. “Well I think you’re brilliant.”

   “Will I get expelled?” she said miserably, searching his face. Her eyes were a dark, rich brown, like melted chocolate. Draco hadn’t remembered that from before.

   “No,” he laughed gently. “Thanks for saving me.” He rose from his knees and sat himself beside her. “I mean, I was just about to kung fu the Hell out of them all, but I thought it would be gentlemanly to let you have a go first.”

   He managed to raise a little laugh out of her, and she turned to him with a smile. “It’s really good to see you,” she said, sweeping a tendril of straight hair behind her ear. Draco took in her new look with eyes un-distracted by threatening wands. He couldn’t say exactly why but it made him slightly uncomfortable, it was too polished, she looked like a doll. But she could tell he was staring at her, so he quickly told her she looked lovely.

   “Oh thanks,” she breathed out in relief. “Lavender took me out shopping and wouldn’t stop until we ran out of money. She said we had to make an effort for the first day.”

   Draco knew Lavender Brown was the girl Hermione had befriended over the summer, at the catch-up program the school had provided for Muggle-Borns to help their integration into Hogwarts with the Pure- and Half-Bloods. Hermione had been top of the class by all accounts.

   “I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Hermione said happily. “I can’t believe we’re really here at last.”

   “It’s been a long while coming,” agreed Draco, though he felt he was talking about a number of things. The school reopening, his new life. Her. His tongue caught in his throat, and for a few awful minutes he couldn’t think of anything to say. Hermione seemed to be suffering the same, and just stared into her lap at her purple nails.

   It had taken a great amount of courage for Draco to write that first letter to her after Christmas, and even then it had taken a week of redrafting before he finally let the owl fly off with it. Instantly he’d regretted it, and tried to call the bird back. He’d spent the next few days in a humiliated state. He’d been driven to talk to the Muggle-Born girl by his grief over losing Harry, and thought she might be the only other person who truly understood, but who was he to her? He’d _attacked_ her the first time they’d met.

   She had just been a name on a page, a face in an unmoving photograph, someone to prepare strategies against in case she joined sides with the enemy. But in Germany she had defended him, with no rational reason as far as Draco could see. It had been her the real Harry had gone to for help. So that’s exactly what Draco had done too.

   When the reply had come, it was like a ray of sunshine parting through the clouds. He wasn’t alone. The letters were friendly but courteous to begin with, swapped every week or two. But then it was every week, every other day, and towards the end of summer practically morning there was a new envelope waiting for him with his breakfast. They were the only two people who really comprehended what the other had gone through, and something that started as convenient had ended up essential.

   For Draco anyway. He was worried what she might have heard at summer school about him, that she would be easily swayed by the opinions of others. But seeing as she had been more or less surrounded by children who equally had had no idea they were capable of magic until Professor McGonagall had shown up on their doors he didn’t appear to have anything to worry about. The tone of her letters only got more excited, more open and playful.

   Those letters became the only highlight of his day. And now not one sensible thing would come out of his mouth.

   Hermione was staring out of the window at the fast moving scenery of what Draco would guess to be Buckinghamshire. Her thumb was rubbing at a key that hung on a chain around her neck. It was now polished to a bright silver, but Draco remembered when she had claimed it in the tunnel below the Death Eaters head quarters, solving a puzzle that had left the rest of the group almost pulling their shoes and socks off to start using their toes to help in the equation.

   She was easily the most intelligent person he had ever met, and for that reason he was certain she would get sorted into Ravenclaw. He’d like to think she might come to Slytherin with him, she might be ambitious enough, but he’d never read a devious or malevolent word from her in the last year so he figured her chances were slim.

   “Ah!” he said suddenly, his thoughts of school prompting his desperate brain to come up with something to talk about. “How did your...GSPDs go?” he said, raising an eyebrow. He was trying to think of the Muggle equivalent of OWLs but they were just called a random jumble of letters.

   “My GCSEs!” she cried, face flushing in excitement, getting what he was talking about right away. She launched into how she’d got five A*s, four As and three Bs, and of course she was disappointed but considering she’d spent most of the year teaching herself magic, and her Geography coursework had been due in the week after Germany, she didn’t really mind. He took a minute or two to work out the equivalent Hogwarts grades, then spent the next ten minutes teasing her about being such a perfectionist.

   After that the conversation flowed freely. They bought lunch from the trolley lady at midday, and opened the window to try and let some fresh air into the stuffy compartment. As the hot September sun rose and fell they moved around the seats to find the shade, eventually plonking themselves on the floor to play exploding snap.

   As evening began drawing in two girls yanked open the compartment door. “There you are!” cried a girl with a long face and mousey brown hair. A taller black girl with a wild afro tamed back with a bright pink head-band stood by her side.

   “Oh hi!” said Hermione, jumping to her feet guiltily, her playing cards fluttering to the ground, making sharp cracking sounds as several connected. “I lost track of time! Girls, this is Draco,” she said indicating him as he pulled himself to his feet. “Draco, this is Lavender Brown and Lisa Turpin.”

   Lisa, the black girl, bounded in and gave him a firm handshake. But Lavender had a queer half smile on her face and her cheeks were almost as pink as Hermione’s. “Right,” she said, gathering her wits. “Well, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” She fumbled for Hermione’s hand whilst never taking her eyes off Draco. “Some of the other girls said we’ve nearly there, so you need to get changed into your uniform,” she told her as they backed out the door. “We’ll bring her back to you at the station,” she called to Draco as they left. Slightly perplexed he went to close the door after them, only to hear Lavender scolding Hermione.

   “You never said he looked like _that!”_

 

***

 

   Draco thought better of staying in the carriage by himself and went the other way to find Blaise and Sarah again. He managed to reach them without threatening to be thrown off the train by anyone, which he chalked up as a win. They were sat in their compartment along with Blaise’s brother and a girl who must have been Sarah’s friend Natalie McDonald. Natalie was so excitable it was like stepping into a tornado as she ran around the small space, and Draco was quite pleased Sarah just threw him his uniform for him to change into in the privacy of the boys’ loos.

   The train was slowing, and as Draco walked back into the compartment they finally ground to a halt in Hogsmeade station. He felt stiff from being on the train all day, and was grateful to get out into the open air, even if it was unusually hot for autumn. Lavender, Lisa and Hermione wove their way through the crowd to them and introductions were made. “Where do we go now?” asked Sarah nervously.

   “Err,” said Draco, trying to remember. “In the first year we took boats with the ground keeper, then the second year we went in horse drawn carriages with everyone else.”

   “Except there weren’t any horses,” murmured Blaise, peering around. “They just drove themselves.” They found themselves being pulled along in a current of students heading away from the platform, so without any better idea of what to do let themselves be steered away.

   After a few minutes of walking through the wizarding village everyone seemed to stop, and there was a ripple of confusion coming from the front of the hoard. Draco and the others pushed their way forward, but as soon as they spied the carriages he realised why the students had not gone near them. Like Blaise had said, when they’d rode the vehicles before the reins had been suspended mid air, as if something invisible was pulling them ahead. But there was definitely something there now; big, bony horses with leathery black skin, blood red eyes and sweeping wings like small dragons. Hermione gawped. “I thought there weren’t any horses?” she said to a puzzled looking Blaise. Armand Zabini frowned.

   “What do you mean?” he chirped. “There aren’t. There’s just the wagons.” It seemed the same argument was being repeated throughout the group – for every person that could see the horses like Draco, Hermione and Blaise, there were two or three that couldn’t.

   “They’re called Thestrals,” said a voice louder than the rest. Harry Potter broke through the masses with Parvati Patil scuttling behind him. Draco couldn’t say what his face showed, anger, apprehension? Everyone quietened down to listen to him, ‘The Boy That Lived,’ thought Draco scornfully. He was a fraud.

   “You can only see them if you’ve seen someone die,” Potter explained curtly, heading for the nearest carriage, yanking open the door, and sliding inside. Parvati followed and slammed the door shut to a chorus of mutterings. Hermione had gone slightly pale, and had to be asked three times by Lavender what the beasts looked like before she heard. Draco felt cold, as cold has had been in the forest in Germany with Seamus Finnigan dying on the ground. This wasn’t exactly the omen he’d been looking for on his first day back at school.

   The student body moved towards the wagons in trepidation. Some voiced that if Harry Potter had done it it must be fine. Others said that was exactly why they shouldn’t. Draco tried to tell himself that the only difference now was that he could see the Thestrals, that the carriages were the just as safe to ride in as before. He wondered if Potter himself could even see them, after all it was the other Harry who had been with them in Germany? He decided to ponder it another time. He hopped up into a free one with Hermione, Lavender and Lisa, whilst Blaise went in the one behind with her brother, Sarah and Natalie.

   When all the wagons were full they lurched forward in unison, trundling along towards the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The three girls hung out the windows and gasped as the grandiose building came into view, but Draco could feel himself shrinking away from it. In that place he was still the villain, it was home to the lowest and most shameful moments of his life and he’d been running from it for three whole years.

   But he couldn’t run any more. Inevitably the carriages came to a stop and the students found themselves back out in the still warm September evening. Professor McGonagall was standing on the wide sweeping steps leading up to the school’s entrance. She’d been the Deputy Headmistress when Hogwarts had closed its doors last, but now she was acting as the full Head with Dumbledore’s health dwindling as it was.

   “Good evening!” she called out in her broad Scottish accent, and they all turned to give her their full attention. “Welcome,” she said warmly. Draco remembered her as being quite a strict and practical woman, not someone to be trifled with or who would be overly sentimental. But there was a rosiness in her cheeks, a glint in her eye which suggested she was genuinely pleased to see them all.

   “Welcome,” she said again when everyone had quietened down. “Welcome back to some of you, and simply welcome to others. We are thrilled to once more be opening the doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Some of you will be used to our annual Sorting Ceremony, whereby students are placed into the house that befits them the best. However as this is not a normal start to the year, neither shall be the sorting. We will begin with those in the First Year, and then every year after that will be re-sorted as well. Each house has an honourable and distinguished history, and we hope that during your time at this school you will continue on that legacy with pride. I would ask then that the First Years come forward, and are then followed by the Second Years and so forth.”

   She spread her hands out and indicated the base of the stairs as students slowly began rearranging themselves. Draco didn’t trust his feet to work. He had just assumed those who had been to school before would be put back where they had been originally – why were they bothering to sort them again? It was bad enough anyway he belonged to Slytherin, the house of traitors, but now he would have to suffer the entire school watching him as the patched-up hat called out Voldemort’s old house.

   Hermione and her friends looked excited, but Draco could only manage a weak smile as they began walking inside the ancient castle. Being tall he could see most of the great hall in front of the other students as they entered, and he was unnerved to see the four tables completely empty. The teachers table stood at the front, and many members of staff new and old smiled and waved as the students all piled in.

   Hermione was staring at the ceiling as the lazy summer evening blew by. “It’s enchanted to look like the sky outside, isn’t it?” she asked Draco quietly. He nodded in response, and she smiled a little broader. “I read about it, in _Hogwarts, A History_.”

   The sorting was a lengthy process. Draco barely listened as the wizened old hat was brought out to sing its song on the three legged stool that every student would find themselves on in the next hour or so. McGonagall took her place at the centre of the teacher’s table, and tiny little Professor Flitwick, the new deputy and Charms teacher, stood on a stool of his own to begin reading them names.

   The only first year Draco really new was Armand Zabini, who was the last to go under the hat. He seemed very pleased to be chosen for his family’s house of Slytherin, and Blaise clapped along with the rest as he took his place. Draco reasoned it wasn’t a shameful place to be sorted for everyone.

   The tables filled and Draco’s dread grew. He knew a few names as younger siblings of people he had gone to school with before, or from families that his parents had entertained at parties whilst Blaise and he had sneaked Fire Whiskey from his father’s cabinets. When they reached the Fourth Years he was unsurprised as Sarah Potter was placed into Gryffindor, and applauded her as she sat beside her friend Natalie on the same table. As the new houses grew so did the cheers as the latest members were announced. The Fifth Year came and went, and then it was the turn of the Sixth Years.

   Draco thought he might pass out.   There were only a few familiar faces left from his year, and as was the case with the year above and below too there were considerably less numbers in their years as compared to the First to Fourth Years. Draco closed his eyes and tried desperately not to think it was because he had let the Death Eaters in to kill them all and set the Basilisk loose amongst them. It’s in the past, he thought over and over, it’s in the past.

   Susan Bones was the first to go, and she was one of the few Draco did know. Flitwick’s voice was growing hoarse after reading out so many names, but he carried on enthusiastically enough. Susan was declared a Hufflepuff and sat herself happily below the black and yellow banners. All too soon it was Hermione’s go, and he squeezed her hand for good luck as she stepped up to wear the hat.

   The hat took different amounts of time to make up its mind for each student; sometimes it only needed mere seconds, and for others like Hermione it spent minutes deciding. When its ripped brim opened like a mouth and yelled out to the room Draco’s heart sunk.

   _“GRYFFINDOR!”_ it told them, and a somewhat oblivious Hermione raced over to sit with Lavender Brown, who had also been sorted there. Some things might change, thought Draco grimly, but he doubted the bad blood between the houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin would ever be one of them. Their friendship was over before it had even begun.

   Morag MacDougal became a Ravenclaw, and then it was Draco’s name being called. He knew he wasn’t imagining the lull in conversation that accompanied his long walk to the stool, or the flurry of whispers that came after.

   “Ah, Mr Malfoy,” said the familiar wheezy voice as Draco slipped the hat over his head. As a First Year it had fallen completely over his eyes and rested on the bridge of his nose, but now it rested just above his eyebrows, and he bowed his head so the brim would shield his view of the other students.

   After a short while, Draco began to wonder if the hat was possibly defective it had been silent for so long, but after another moment or two it perked up again. “Well this _is_ interesting,” it muttered. “Very surprising indeed. I see plenty of determination and gusto, pride – but a little bit of pride never hurt anyone now did it? Humility, a keen awareness of honour, and then there’s…well…”

   “What?” Draco couldn’t help but whisper. “What’s bothering you?” He was getting agitated by sitting there so long, fully aware that everyone would be looking at him.

   “I guess you would call it… _courage_ ,” said the hat. “A sense of _morality_.”

   “Courage?” repeated Draco before he could help himself, but it was too late. The hat opened its brim and shouted as loudly as it could;

   “The best place for you seems to be _GRYFFINDOR!_ ”

   About two thirds of the table by the red and gold banners burst into applause to welcome their new house member, and a good half of the remaining students clapped politely as well. But there were a number of pupils, who like Draco himself, were stunned into complete silence.

   “W-what?” he managed to stammer to the smiling deputy head, peeking out from under the brim of the hat. “I’m in…what?”

   But Flitwick only smiled further from his perch on his stool. “Master Malfoy,” he said quietly. “It is important to remember that the hat looks at who you are, and not what your name is. Now if you would kindly take your seat, we can continue.”

   Draco slowly pulled the hat off his head and placed it back on the stool. Hermione and Lavender were cheering loudly as he sleepwalked to sit beside them, and Hermione threw her arms around him for a bear hug. After a moment he realised he should return it. How had that just happened? he thought numbly. Something like relief was seeping slowly through his insides.

   He turned to look at the remaining students waiting before the hat. Potter and Parvati were staring at him incredulously from the queue, the lack of pleasure clear on their faces. They waited as Parvati’s twin sister Padma, a healthier, more friendly reflection of herself, was sorted back into Ravenclaw, and then she and Harry were returned promptly to Gryffindor.

   They didn’t spare him a second glance.

   Blaise was the last of the Sixth Years, and unsurprisingly she went straight back into Slytherin. What was surprising was the detour she took after taking the hat from her head. Instead of seating herself under the green and silver banners she walked casually over to the Gryffindors, causing people to look around in confusion. Was she lost? But she stopped beside Draco and leaned over. “You know this means we can’t be friends anymore,” she whispered into his ear with a wink, and with that disappeared back to her own house.

 

***

 

   The next few weeks passed in a strange blur for Draco. It was extremely disorientating going back to the Gryffindor tower following meals and classes after the Slytherin dungeon had been his home for his first two years at Hogwarts. But whenever he arrived there a warm sense of relief would always wash over him, and even after only a few days he swore nowhere had ever seemed more like home to him. The fire was constantly roaring and the plush, mismatching sofas and chairs were always a welcome respite after a hectic day off lessons. There would be gaggles of students chattering and doing homework, and no one ever seemed to get pinned to the rafters. Unlike in Slytherin.

   The dorms had been a bit tricky, as Draco had found himself sharing with Harry and only one other Muggle-Born boy called Dean Thomas. But more often than not Harry spent his time with Parvati, or the Ravenclaw Terry Boot, so Draco didn’t have to worry about bumping into him in the bathroom. He was aware that Harry and possibly even Parvati had warned Dean about staying clear of Draco. Dean had responded by throwing a Muggle football into Draco’s lap, and informing him that he couldn’t shoot penalties against himself. Draco had taken to Dean immediately.

   Lessons were interesting. Despite being in the Sixth Year, in general their level of education was acceptable at best and downright none existent at worse. Most students had been homeschooled after leaving Hogwarts four years ago, either by parents or tutors, and it meant their knowledge was often focused on certain areas with huge gaps in others. Draco was one of the few Death Eater children who knew little expect potions and spells that would hurt you and a head-full of anti-Muggle propaganda. Almost every lesson he found himself desperately scribbling notes, trying to keep up with what was being taught.

   Hermione and the other Muggle Borns had a broad sweep of general knowledge from Summer School that meant they weren’t really good at anything. That was, expect for Hermione herself, who seemed to have ingested five years worth of texts books since November and was at the top of almost every class. Draco was mortified by this; he’d had it in his head he was going to be the one guiding Hermione, helping her learn the ropes, but her grasp of magic was already better than his had ever been. He did his best to hide his inability from her for as long as possible, the shame was so unbearable. It had lasted until the end of their second week, when they had been paired together in Charms and Draco was practically rendered mute by his embarrassment at being unable to help in any way with their assignment. When Hermione worked out what was the cause of his shame, she seemed overcome with delight, promptly drew up a extracurricular plan for them both and began tutoring him immediately.   After that homework suddenly became a lot more enjoyable.

   In fact, between homework, extra study, lessons and meals, Draco found himself almost always in the company of Hermione Granger. She relaxed her extreme appearance as the days went by, easing off the make-up and letting her hair curl a little more naturally, which Draco couldn’t say he minded. She was so easy to be around, always having something to talk about. They worked on school work as well as extra catch up projects she devised for themselves. They both knew a reasonable amount of French and would often attempt to have stilted conversations which generally ended in nonsense. All of this seemed to add fuel to Harry and Parvati’s fire, and Draco and Hermione were always rewarded with a scowl from them both whenever they ran into each other.

   “I honestly don’t understand it,” said Hermione sadly one day as they watched the pair stalk past them in the common room. Draco had to remind himself that she had only known the other Harry, the real Harry as he thought of him, and even then only for a few days. He had tried to explain to her that this was the way the Harry of this world had always been, but she refused to believe the Harry they knew wasn’t lurking in there somewhere. “They had exactly the same life until they were one, genetically they’re identical, they’ve just had different upbringings. I know he’s got it in him.” Draco wasn’t so sure. About Harry or what ‘genetically’ meant.

   A lot of the student body from the higher years still avoided Draco, but that was preferable to being attacked like he had been on the train so he didn’t mind. It seemed that getting sorted into Gryffindor had gone a long way to start changing people’s minds about him. In fact Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordon had even approached him in the library to apologise for the way they had behaved.

   As the days went on Draco became more and more confident going out into the depths of the castle alone. Once or twice he got cornered, or things thrown at him, but mostly people just left him in peace. So when Lavender Brown hauled Hermione off to talk about boys, and Dean was too busy with homework for football, Draco would just take himself on walks, trying to remember every nook and crevice he’d known so well before.

   Sometimes his feet appeared to have a mind of their own, carting him off in directions as if they had some desired destination unknown to him. He would find himself outside standing by the gamekeeper Hagrid’s pumpkin patch, or just shy of the thrashing arms of the Whomping Willow, or on the shore of the Great Lake. Inside it would be the middle of a corridor, empty save for a stone statue of a one eyed crone, or the old History of Magic classroom. Tonight was the third time he’d found himself wandering up the Northern Tower. It was late, well past curfew, but sleep had been eluding him for hours and he knew if he didn’t do something to tire himself out it wouldn’t come at all.

   As he creaked open the old wooden door of Hogwarts’ highest tower he was surprised to find more than the starry sky and cool night air waiting for him. Hermione was leaning against the stone wall looking out, and jumped out of her skin at the noise of the door, clutching her chest in relief when she saw who it was.

   “You scared me!” she cried, swatting his arm playfully. Draco hadn’t expected anyone to be up here, especially after hours. Especially her.

   “What are you doing here?” he asked slightly defensively as the door swung shut. He meant to say something a little more convivial, but it was the first thing that leapt from his mouth.

   “Well, what are you doing here?” replied Hermione, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s after curfew.”

   “Ah – well I don’t intend on getting caught,” Draco said childishly, raising his eyebrow. She frowned at him again.

   “As opposed to the students that do?”

   Draco couldn’t help but laugh out loud, his breath condensing in the air. The wind was making its presence known, blowing through them with gusto to remind them just how high up they were. Draco had pulled trainers and a zipped up hoodie over his pyjamas, but he realised now all Hermione had on was a t-shirt and shorts, and she was shivering vigorously.   “You’re cold,” exclaimed Draco, his previous awkwardness forgotten as his yanked on the zip of his jumper and threw it around Hermione’s shoulders.

   His hands froze as he clutched the lapels of the hoodie, the zips cold against his palms. The knuckles of his thumbs were resting against her shuddering chest, her skin cold against them despite being hidden by fabric. She rose her hands just below his and pulled the jumper tighter. “Thanks,” she said, cheeks rosy from the wind. The silver key hung from the chain on her neck as always, glinting in the moonlight. Draco was dimly aware of the fire-fairies darting through the air, and the giant squid lounging lazily in the watery depths of the lake.

   “I couldn’t sleep,” he stuttered, lurching back to her previous question, his hands still holding onto the material of the jumper. “I sometimes walk around the grounds when I’m restless.”

   “Hmm,” she said, looking out over the vista. “Me too. It’s funny we should both end up here.”

   Her skin was covered in goose bumps, and the toe nails that Lavender had painted were curling on the flagstoned floor. The breeze tossed and played with her soft brown tendrils as she stared thoughtfully out over the school grounds. He’d been alone with her almost every day since they had returned to Hogwarts, but there were always people milling around, bright sunshine, noises of the student body. Now it seemed there was only the two of them against the night, high in the clouds, away from any other living thing. Apart from the squid, who smacked at the water’s surface in amusement.

   “Well, I was of course following you,” joked Draco after the pause stretched onto just a little too long, his smoky breath hanging lightly in the air. “I figured you’d be up to no good.”

   “Me!” she cried, pretending to be outraged. “I’m a model student!”

   “Some might say you keep questionable company,” Draco told her, watching her for a response.

   Hermione had stopped shuddering with his hoodie around her, and they both still clung to the zipped edges. “People can say what they bloody like,” she told him coldly, and he looked up to meet her gaze. “I’m done caring what idiots think about me.” She reached forward and placed her hand on his chest, just above his heart.

   He stopped breathing. “Now you’re cold,” she whispered.

   He looked at her small hand, with chipped nails the colour of her toes. “I’m fine,” he managed.

   “You’re blue.”

   “I look good in blue,” he insisted. He tried to smile but all his energy seemed to be concentrating on the warmth coming from her palm.

   She looked at his face, studying the lines. He watched her dark brown eyes skimming his features. “Can,” she began after a while. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded. “Why did you write to me?”

   The question took him by surprise. “I thought you’d understand.” He took in a lungful of chilly air, his eyes on her hand. “Did you mind?”

   She took a moment to think, which made him nervous. “I was surprised.”

   Draco wanted to step away from her, but seemed unable to let go of the hoodie. “I knew you barely knew me, but...I guess I felt I knew you.”

   “I thought you hated me,” she laughed, half whisper.

   “I didn’t know you at all.” His hands were numb and his head light. Every movement seemed over exaggerated, the seconds epic. “But Harry trusted you, and the more I understood him, the other him,” he amended, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice – this wasn’t the place. “It made me respect you too, want to know you more than a few pages of a profile. It didn’t take long to see how special you were.”

   She stiffened, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad. “Do you know me now?” her brown eyes were steady and Draco forced his to be the same.

   “No,” he told her. Her eyes flickered, hurt, and she made to pull her hand away, but he caught it. “Not as much as I’d like to,” he said, a wash of confidence from the warmth of her skin dousing his nerves. “Not yet.”

   “Not yet?” she repeated. Slowly, he took a step forward, his chest touching hers. It was her turn to stare at their hands, pressed again against his heart. He could feel her blood pulsing, her heart fluttering.

   “Not yet,” he said again, as he bent down his head, and softly kissed her lips.

 

***

 

   Draco blinked his eyes as the morning light streamed through the gap in the curtains of his four poster bed-hangings.   Hermione.

   It wasn’t a dream.

   He sat up, immediately wide awake. Panic seized him as the details of the previous night filtered back through his brain. The kiss. The kiss after that. Her smile.

   He’d been tormenting himself with thoughts of this moment for months, picturing her acceptance, her rejection, trying to convince himself he didn’t care, that she meant nothing to him.

   As his breathing slowed, he began to realise that maybe he meant a little more than nothing to her.

   Being a Sunday, Dean was sprawled amidst his bed sheets with a Muggle newspaper spread out in front of him, drinking in the sports pages filled with photographs that unnervingly did not move. Potter’s bed was unslept in. Draco shoved some jeans on and called out a ‘hello’ to Dean as he threw himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Dean managed a reply about thirty second after he’d closed the door.

   Draco walked into the Great Hall for breakfast with snakes writhing in his belly. There she was. Wedged between Lavender Brown and Lisa Turpin the Ravenclaw, determinedly poking at her porridge, ignoring their elbows in her ribs as her cheeks glowed rosy again. All three spotted him entering, and Hermione’s face went from rosy to scarlet. Lisa and Lavender suddenly became very still, hawking him as he sat down opposite them, which was far worse than the gossiping. Sarah Potter and Natalie McDonald were sat a few seats down, and thankfully gave him a hearty wave good morning that he could respond to.

   He pulled some toast from a nearby rack and concentrated on spreading a layer of jam on its surface. Lisa and Lavender resumed their whispering, but Hermione seemed paralysed with uncertainty, her eyes half cast in Draco’s direction. Did she regret it? Was she embarrassed? The rod of steel that Draco had spent most of his life growing up with flicked coldly up his spine, shooing away his doubts. He remembered precisely where she’d put her hands up in that tower. You didn’t do that unless you meant business.

   So he did the most logical thing he could think of, which was to run the toe of his boot up the inside of her thigh.

   Hermione dropped the pumpkin juice she was holding over the entire contents of hers, Lavender’s and Lisa’s breakfasts. Hermione froze in horror. Lisa and Lavender squealed predictably, jumping backwards to keep the juice from pooling into their laps, as Lee Jordon and Angelina Johnson snorted into their scrambled eggs.

   After taking a few breaths, Hermione finally raised her eyes to his, and Draco knew where he stood as that smile reached the left hand side of her mouth.

 

***

 

   Harry had had enough. Even from the other end of the Gryffindor table, it wasn’t hard to see the way they were looking at each other.

   Parvati huffed, high pitched, from the back for her throat. “Of all the nerve,” she said, shaking her head.

   Harry ground his teeth. “Let’s go sit with Terry,” he said, and stood up without waiting for a response.

   “Oh, yeah,” said Parvati quickly, snatching up her bag. “Good idea, and maybe my sister...” Perhaps she could tell Harry wasn’t really listening, he was too lost in his own thoughts, but he was grateful when she trailed off.

   After everything they’d put him through, his family, his friends, to see Granger and Malfoy making gooey eyes at each other made him feel it had been some sort of conspiracy all along. Why should _they_ get to be happy?

   Terry, as usual, had stayed a little longer after breakfast, strumming on his acoustic guitar. As it was a Sunday there weren’t any lessons to go to, and he seemed happy picking at the strings, singing softly under his breath. “Hey,” said Harry, dropping his bag and slamming himself down into the seat next to Terry.

   “Morning sunshine,” said Terry, not pausing in his strumming or looking up from the strings.

   “Terry,” said Parvati eagerly, sitting beside Harry and leaning in closer to them both. “You’ll never believe what’s happened.”

   “Malfoy’s dating Granger,” said Terry, again not looking up.

   Parvati deflated visibly. “Oh, right,” she said, and Harry ground his teeth again to hide his irritation. “You know?”

   Terry shrugged and finally did them the decency of looking up. “So?”

   “Soo,” said Parvati in a sing-song voice. “It’s outrageous, who do they think they are?”

   Terry let his hands relax away from the guitar. “Why do you care?”

   Harry leant back against the Ravenclaw table. “I just don’t see why they should get to be happy.”

   Terry arched an eyebrow brazenly at him. “Someone round here should be,” he said, and went back to his instrument.

   Harry glared at him, and wished for once he wouldn’t be such an ass.

   Parvati’s eyes flicked between them both uneasily. “I,” she said slowly. “Am going to go say hi to Padma, okay? Be back in a moment.” Harry didn’t say anything as she rose, eyes still on them, and left.

   Terry rolled his eyes, and swung his guitar around to prop it up against the bench. “What?” he said.

   Harry shook his head and looked away, glancing only briefly at the Gryffindor table. He realised that Granger and Malfoy had stood up and were leaving the hall, and as his eyes moved to follow them, Malfoy’s head turned and the two of them locked eyes, just for a moment.

   “I thought you’d understand,” he said, snapping his gaze away, focusing on his trainers instead.

   Terry sighed and grabbed the guitar neck, standing up and stretching so his shoulders popped. “There seems to be a lot I don’t understand,” he said, not unkindly. “You guys feel like explaining, you let me know.”

   He rested the guitar over his shoulder like Harry might do with his broomstick, and sauntered off in the same direction as Malfoy; out the hall.

   Harry watched him for a moment, tapping his foot as his agitation rose. “Wait,” he said, knowing he was probably about to do something really stupid, and got to his feet as well, jogging after Terry. Terry stopped and cocked his head as well as his eyebrow.

   “Yes?” he said, standing on the threshold and propping the door open.

   Harry swallowed and clicked his tongue. “I think maybe we should talk,” he said, and slipped through the door jar, into the entrance hall. He glanced back to see Terry shrug, let the door go and follow him.

   “About what,” said Terry.

   “Everything,” said Harry.

 

***

 

   “Are you sure?” asked Draco again as they stood at the bottom of the front steps that led into the school. The unusually warm October sun was beating down and making him squint a little more than he would have liked.

   Hermione laughed and squeezed his hands from where he was holding onto hers. “Yes,” she said, her cheeks that delightful shade of pink again.

   Draco wasn’t sure he could really trust what he was hearing; good things didn’t happen to him. “No regrets?”

   Hermione raised her eyebrow scornfully at him in a way that made his pulse quicken just a little. “No,” she said, leaning in to him.

   “But,” he said, leaning away. “People will talk, people won’t like it.”

   Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “Will you just shut up and kiss me again.” She seemed a little shocked by her own audacity, so Draco did as he was told before she could change her mind.

   Her lips were soft and strong under his. He’d only snuck a few wet and messy pecks with daughters of his father’s friends, back when they used to host big parties and Blaise and he would dare each other, picking out targets to stick their tongues down out of sheer boredom. This was so completely different. He felt...connected. Whole.

   He was just slipping his hands around her waist when a couple of squeals broke his concentration and Hermione jerked away from him in surprise. They looked towards the front doors to see Lavender and Lisa peeking out from inside, glee and borderline hysteria clear on their faces.

   Upon realising they’d been spotted, Draco thought they might be embarrassed, but on the contrary Lavender grabbed Lisa’s hand and they sprinted up towards them. “We need Hermione,” she gibbered, grabbing her hand and, despite the look of horror on her face, dragging her back towards the school.

   Draco laughed, an easiness settling over him that he’d never felt before. And although he wanted nothing more than to wrestle Hermione back from her friends and take her somewhere quiet and private, he found himself waving to the three girls. “See you later,” he laughed as they slipped back into the shadows, Hermione attempting to look angry, but not doing a very good job.

   He laughed again to himself and jammed his hands into his pockets. It was such nice weather outside he wanted to stay out for a while, so began walking along the grounds. He was pleased after ten minutes or so, when he recognised a couple of familiar figures on the grass, and wandered over to meet them.

   Blaise was teaching her brother Armand which way up to hold a broom. Draco’s ball of sunshine, Sunny, was bobbing happily by her shoulder. He generally split his time between the two of them, flocking to whoever was outside first, eager for company.

   “Mother never let us fly,” Blaise said to Draco as they watched the youngster speed about above their heads on Blaise’s broom, as Armand was a first year and not allowed his own. “But now father’s back he says so long as we don’t wear any of the tailored clothes from Switzerland he has no problem with it.”

   Draco ducked as Armand tore by, whopping with delight as he spun around head over heels. “He perhaps mentioned something about not breaking your necks too, yes?”

   Blaise blinked. “No, he wasn’t specific about that,” she said.

 

***

 

   “Everything?” repeated Terry.

   Harry had stalked off along the corridor, moving up the stairs and away from the Great Hall. But he was please to see that Terry was following. “More or less,” he said, immediately questioning whether or not this was a good idea. But he was angry and seeing Malfoy and Granger like that... He curled his fists. He didn’t have many friends now, and he wanted to let Terry in, like the old days.

   “Starting with why you’ve been such a jack-ass the past few months?”

   Harry turned and glared at Terry, who didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “Terry,” he said, tired and probably a little bit tenser than he meant to.

   “Ziggy,” replied Terry, mimicking the syllables in the same way. Harry opened his mouth to protest the ridiculous nick-name that he’d come up with, but Terry cut him off. “Let me pop home, drop off my guitar,” he said, shrugging the instrument on his shoulder. “Then we can talk.”

   Harry folded his arms. “Fine,” he said, letting the nick-name slide. “See you in five.”

   Terry saluted and walked off with purpose. If he was excited or intrigued by Harry’s offer to talk, he wasn’t showing it.

   “Hi!” came Parvati’s voice, and Harry turned to see her coming round the corner. He felt irritation flare inside him, but he pushed it down. It wasn’t her fault he was mad, and telling her to go away would only cause more problems. “I saw you guys leaving,” she said, coming over to him. “Everything okay?”

   “Yeah,” he said, opening his arm to let her in for a hug, but something in his tone must have given her away. She leant back and looked at him. “What?” he said.

   “That’s what I’m asking?” said Parvati, raising her eyebrows.

   “What?” said Harry again, more seriously.

   Parvati cocked her head. “I don’t know, you tell me?” she said. “What did you say to Terry?”

   “Nothing,” said Harry defensively.

   “Uh-huh,” said Parvati, pursing her lips.

   Harry bobbed his head. “Okay,” he confessed. “Nothing yet.”

   “Harry!” hissed Parvati. “You know you can’t tell him, not anything, not ever!”

   Harry pulled away from her and groaned. “See, this is why I slipped out.”

   “No,” said Parvati, wagging her finger. “No, this is nothing to do with me. You know you can’t tell him, Sirius said so.”

   “Tell me what?”

   Harry turned to see Terry had returned. He must have moved fast to get to Ravenclaw and back in that amount of time. Maybe he was keen to hear Harry talk after all?

   Harry glanced at Parvati and started walking. “Nothing you don’t know.”

   Parvati took no more than a second to fall into step with him, Terry not far behind. “That’s because I was _there,”_ she hissed, grabbing his elbow. “You weren’t even there, you only know because I know and that’s as far as it can go!”

   “I can hear you,” said Terry amused, and Harry huffed.

   “It’s not right,” he said. “I can’t live like this, and seeing them like that...” he trailed off. “I’m not talking about the whole world, I’m just talking about Terry. One person, who’s he going to tell?”

   Parvati glared. “That’s not the point, we promised.”

   “I can’t keep lying,” said Harry as they reached the second floor. He wasn’t sure where he was headed, he was just following his feet.

   “Oh yeah,” said Parvati. “How do you think I feel? I can’t even tell my _sister._ My own twin, have you thought about that? She can practically read my mind, what do you think this has done to us?”

   “Er,” said Terry from behind them. “Maybe I should leave you guys alone, this seems pretty personal.”

   “No,” snapped Harry, slamming into a random door and pushing his way in. It was a transfiguration classroom by the looks of it, but he’d never had any classes there. “Parvati I’m not changing my mind – what’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t believe us? He won’t tell anyone, will you?”

   He looked back at Terry as he came inside the classroom and let the door shut. He held up his hands, just visible under the grey legwarmers he’d gotten into the habit of wearing on his wrists. “Tell anyone what?”

   Harry considered his friend. They’d known each other for years, their dads were friends and they’d always got on well, both in and out of school. Everything was familiar about him, the Muggle band t-shirt he was wearing, the rimless glasses, the knitted beanie hat. “Our secret,” he said. “If we tell you that no one else can know, not your parents, no one else at the school, do you think you can do that?”

   For the sake of my sanity? he almost added, but decided that was a touch dramatic.

   “I guess,” said Terry, a little bewildered.

   “Harry,” pleaded Parvati. “This isn’t safe, we promised Sirius.”

   But Harry shook his head. “Either we tell him, or we can’t be friends anymore.”

   Terry raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?” he asked.

   But at that moment, the door burst open again, and three giggling girls stumbled in. All their faces dropped upon seeing who was inside the room though.

   “Oh,” said Hermione Granger, sobering up instantly. “Oh, sorry, we didn’t know-”

   “We’re having a private conversation,” snapped Parvati, squaring up to her and the two girls behind them. Harry knew they were all Muggle-borns; Granger and the brown-haired girl Lavender were in Gryffindor, and the other one, a black robust girl with a pop of tight afro was called Lisa something, and was in Ravenclaw. It was this girl that dropped her shoulders back, and stepped up to Parvati.

   “It’s a public room though,” she said, unamused.

   “That we got to first,” insisted Parvati.

   “Yeah,” said Harry, his eyes boring into Granger. “So why don’t you run along, and leave us the Hell alone?”

   “What is your problem?” demanded Lavender, but Granger fluttered her hands.

“No,” she said. “No it’s okay, let’s just go somewhere else.”

   “No,” insisted Lavender. “I’m serious, what is your problem you two?” She was staring daggers at Harry and Parvati equally, and Terry was looking between them all.

   “Nothing,” said Harry coldly, his eyes not leaving Granger’s. “Just leave us alone, we’re having a difficult conversation.”

   “Telling more people not to like Hermione?” challenged Lavender. “Or Draco?” She took Terry in, who regarded her back. “Don’t listen to them, they tried the same speech on us, and on Dean. They’re just mean.”

   Harry felt like there was a whistling in his ears. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

   “Don’t we?”scoffed Lisa.

   “Guys, let’s just go,” pleaded Granger.

   Parvati laughed. “Yeah, that’s it, run away, that’s what you’re good at.”

   Granger suddenly went very still. “What did you say?” she said, her voice very low.

   “You heard her,” sneered Harry, stepping closer to her. “Run back to your boyfriend, leave the mess behind for us to clear up, that’s what you’re good at.”

   Granger threw her book bag down with such sudden force that everyone jumped back. “You know what,” she growled. “I am so sick of this. I am sick of treading on eggshells around you both, when you know perfectly well there was nothing we could have done, and Seamus’ death was nobody’s fault but the Death Eater who stabbed him in the gut.”

   A moment passed, and Harry just stared, his teeth ground down.

   “Um,” said Terry. “What?”

   “Yeah,” agreed Lisa. “What?”

   “Stop blaming us for what Harry did,” said Granger, her jaw locked. “When all he did was save your sister and defeat the most evil wizard that ever lived.” She crossed her arms, tears in her eyes. “Something you could never have done.”

   Harry lunged for her before he even realised what he was doing, only to be caught and swung around by Terry.

   “You take that back you _bitch!”_ screeched Parvati, starting forward before Lisa got in between them.

   “Hold it hold it!” shouted Terry, releasing Harry and shoving him away from the girls. “What the Hell is everyone talking about? Stop eye gouging and explain!”

   “That girl,” Harry snarled. “Helped ruin my life. She stood by and let Seamus DIE!”

   “We did everything we could to save him!” Hermione screamed back, straining against Lavender and Lisa as they held her back. “Me, Draco, Harry! You have no right to hold us responsible!”

   Terry looked between Harry and the girl, bewildered. “But…that’s Harry,” he said.

   Parvati was pulling at her hair. “This isn’t right,” she said, shaking her head. “We shouldn’t be talking about this, any of this.”

   “We don’t need to tell anyone anything,” Hermione snapped back, relaxing away from her bodyguards. “You just need to let go and move on.”

   Harry laughed, a nasty sound even to his own ears. “Let go, she says. You knew him, what, a day? I knew him _my whole life._ And then he came along, dragged you all into danger, then left us to pick up the pieces!”

   “That’s not what happened and you know it,” said Granger, staring daggers at him.

   “What,” shouted Terry. “What the Hell happened?”

   “You took my life from me!” Harry bellowed, ignoring him. “I didn’t ask for any of this! I – he – I have _dreams!_ He won’t leave me alone! And you and Malfoy, it’s like a I can’t get away from it!” He stormed up to her, jabbing a finger at his forehead. “I’m scarred! Deformed! People talk to me about what happened and I have to LIE! My family won’t look at me the same way – and you couldn’t care less!”

   Her mouth twisted. “You selfish, unfeeling little _brat!_ You think you’re the only one who’s suffered? You’re sounding like someone did this to you on purpose, you know he came here by accident, I know Sirius explained it all to you! So don’t act like the victim here, at least you _have_ a family!”

   Harry shoved her to the ground, with such force it took Lisa and Lavender with her. Her heard Parvati gasp, and within a second Terry had seized his arm, yanking him around and giving him a shove of his own. “What that Hell is wrong with you!” he cried. “You don’t hit girls, not _ever!”_

   But his words were lost somewhat in the almighty crash of thunder that rumbled in from outside. Harry couldn’t help but turn and look out the window, and was taken aback to see the blue skies had been replaced with stormy grey ones. Rain began lashing against the window, and more thunder and lightning flared.

   “What the…?” said Lisa as she got to her feet, helping Lavender and Granger as well. But Granger’s face was no longer angry or even hurt.

   She was scared.

   “It can’t be,” she said.

   “Scared of a little rain,” sniggered Parvati.

   “It’s not the rain,” said Granger, panic in her voice that irritated Harry even more. “It’s what comes after.”

   “Oh look, just get out,” said Harry. “I’ve had enough of this.”

   “No listen,” said Granger.  

   “I said GET OUT,” shouted Harry, as thunder boomed right over their heads and winds rattled the window panes violently.

     Terry Boot stood in between the two groups, arms up. “Look, I think everyone should calm down-” he began, but Harry turned on him.

   “Terry, I’m sorry but you have no _God damn idea_ what you’re talking about so just leave it!”

     Terry starred coldly at him as the rain continued to beat down. “You know what,” he said, his voice low. “You’re right. I don’t have any idea. Because you shut me out. I got grounded, and you guys went into _battle!_ I nursed a hangover whilst Seamus _died_ and you somehow, beyond any reasonable explanation, _killed You-Know-Who!”_

   “Terry-” Harry started as the thunder rumbled again. “Terry it’s not my fault!”

   “Yeah, yeah,” he drawled in his Mancunian accent. “I get it Ziggy, you’ve got issues, but to be honest I’m sick of it, so you either tell me, or-”

   “We can’t!” shrieked Parvati.

   “Then at least stop being such an arse!” Terry retaliated.

   “It’s my life!” Harry ranted, pulling at his hair. “No one understands, _no one!”_ The ground seemed to shift beneath their feet, so much so that Parvati screeched and lurched to grab onto his arm.

   “You guys felt that, right?” asked Lisa, looking around at the floor as it trembled again. But Hermione was staring at the ceiling again.

   “Harry!” she cried out, spinning round to seize his shoulders. “Harry listen to me-!” but with a bellow of outrage he pushed her away.

   “How dare you,” he fumed. “You’re on his side, you don’t know, don’t care-”

   “Harry you _have_ to calm down!” she shouted him down. “Don’t you see where we are?” She pointed desperately at the ceiling of the classroom. “The History block is above us, I’m sure of it.”

   “What the Hell does that matter?” spat Parvati.

   “The storm!” retaliated Hermione, pointing out the window as thunder and lightning clashed together. “Harry told me what happened when he crossed over – the Dimensional Hotspot is outside, he lost his temper and a storm came from nowhere – you’ve got to calm down or who knows what’ll happen!”

   “You don’t tell me what to do!” screamed Harry, and he was ashamed to say he felt the tears on his face. “I’m in control of my life, ME! Not you, not Malfoy, and NOT HIM!”

   The stones in the floor and the walls were vibrating, dust was shaking loose from the cracks as the wind howled. Hermione covered her head and pleaded as Lavender clung onto Lisa in fear.

   “Calm down! Harry said-”

_“Your Harry can go to Hell!_ This is all his fault, everything, I hate him – I HATE HIM!”

   The glass exploded inwards from the windows, showering them in jagged shards. Harry heard people screaming as they fell to the floor, and he screwed up his eyes and tried to shield his face. The wind roared around them, sweeping the glass into a frenzy and slicing at their bare skin.

   As soon as it had started, the storm disappeared. Glass tinkled to the floor as the wind stopped, and after a few moments Harry dared to raise his head and open his eyes. The rain clouds were dissipating, the sun tentatively peaking back through once more. Lavender was inspecting Lisa and Hermione, brushing glass off their clothes. Parvati just stared about the room in shock, whilst Terry Boot shook debris from his body like a dog would remove water from its coat. He dropped his hands in his lap and gawped at the shattered window. “Okay,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “What the bloody Hell happened there?”

 

***

 

   After a while Draco thought maybe he should go to the library. Hermione had suggested some books that would help him with their current assignment in Charms, so he bid adieu to the Zabini siblings. But no sooner as he’d set his feet inside the cool walls of the school, they were taking him in a different direction. He hadn’t decided if he should be worried about this behaviour yet. True, it had brought him to Hermione last night, but what if it was some kind of curse? What if it was a mild form of an Imperius Curse? He still felt like he had control of his mind though, it was just like his feet kept suggesting it might be a nice idea to go _this_ way.

   He wasn’t surprised to find himself outside the door of one of the old classrooms again. He’d been here a couple of times. But for the second time in twenty-four hours he was startled to find there was someone waiting for him on the other side.

   “Hi,” said Sarah Potter brightly but sleepily, as if he’d just woken her up. She yawned and shielded her eyes to look at him from her perch on the large window sill. “How you doing?”

   He smiled at her and let the door close. This was the classroom with all the rude words on the blackboard; it obviously hadn’t been used in a long time and Dean had told him he’d heard rumours it was cursed. Between his feet and this room Draco was resigned to thinking something was probably afoot, but at that moment he was just happy to see a friendly face.

   “Oh look at that grin,” the younger girl laughed, rubbing her eyes and tossing back her choppy black hair. Unusually it was all black today, no steaks of colour. “You are in a good mood aren’t you.” She pulled a face as he leant against the wall by her window, and he tried to frown.

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, in mock seriousness, which just made her laugh again.

   “Draco and Hermione,” she began to sing, “sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-ow!” He whacked her arm in an embarrassed attempt to get her to stop singing.

   It felt nice to talk with Sarah again, she’d been a good friend to him at the house the past few months, but with school starting again they’d hardly been able to spend any time together.

   “How’ve you been?” he asked. She shrugged.

   “Okay,” she said, looking back out the window. Draco waited, not saying anything. “Some people...some of the other kids say stuff sometimes, but there’s no point in getting angry is there?”

   Draco folded his arms. “What kids,” he asked. “What stuff?” She shrugged again, not meeting his eyes. “Sarah-”

   “A couple of girls keep making fun of my hair and stuff. They call me bolt girl and do magnetic spells to tug at things whilst we’re in class.” She ran her tongue bar across her teeth to illustrate the point. She was still staring out the window, hands placed calmly on her lap, but Draco could set she was upset. “And another boy’s started telling everyone that we made it all up, what happened in Germany, Harry and I. Even you and Hermione and Parvati...they said we probably killed Seamus, then came up with a stupid story to cover it up.”

   Draco knew firsthand how ignorant and cruel kids could be, but Sarah Potter had been through more than enough crap without dealing with this nonsense too.

   “Give me names,” he said calmly, but she still didn’t move. He gave her a few minutes before pressing again. “Trust me, just tell me their names and I promise you they’ll all have mysterious accidents-”

   “NO!” she flared, jolting her body around to face him. She took a few breaths to steady herself. “I can look after _myself_ ,” she spat.

   Draco held up his hands. “Of course you can.”

   She went back to staring out the window, but Draco had a feeling her eyes weren’t really seeing. “Thank you though,” she mumbled. Draco shrugged.

   “If you were my sister I wouldn’t let anyone talk to you like that.”

   Sarah stiffened. “Harry’s got his own issues.”

   “You can say that again.”

   “I don’t want to talk about him,” she said curtly, flicking her short ponytail back again. “So you finally worked up the guts to snog Hermione?”

   Draco tried to remain cool. “What do you mean ‘finally’,” he said, his voice only squeaking slightly.

   “Duh,” said Sarah, half a smile creeping back onto her face. It vanished again in an instant. “What on Earth is that?” she said, alarmed, looking out the window. Draco had been aware that the light levels had dropped during their conversation, but when he levered himself off the wall and looked outside he was shocked to see that a storm had brewed in what must have only been minutes; rumbling black clouds swirled overhead, and as he and Sarah stared thunder clapped loudly then lightning flickered like a gnarly electric hand, snatching for the trees. Students, including Blaise and Armand were running back to the safely of the school as tumultuous rain began to fall, and the thunder and lightning shook the building again.

   “It must be right over the building,” said Sarah in awe, eagerly looking out over the horizon.

   “Hmm,” muttered Draco, and the thunder struck again and the building felt like it actually moved. “I think we should get away from the window,” he told Sarah, who pouted.

   “Oh it’s fine, I bet it’s going to be spectacular.”

   Draco took hold of her arm as the stonework shook again. Something was seriously wrong. “No really, I don’t think it’s safe.”

   Something in his tone must have reached Sarah, because the humour instantly dropped from her face and she whipped out her wand. “It’s a just a storm,” she called out, uncertain as the wind raised to a terrible howl. The upturned chairs stacked around the edges of the classroom began to shift as forceful gusts ripped through the room. Draco’s eyes never left the window.

   “Let’s just go-” he began, but he didn’t get a chance to finish. The window shattered and the two of them yelled out as glass rained down on them. They fell to the ground as it rocked, the rain pelting down on them and the thunder crashing above their heads.

   Before he even knew what was happening, Draco’s world was plunged into darkness, the noise ripped from his ears, the ground pulled from underneath him.

   And then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN! What do you think's happened there then?


	3. Carry On Wayward Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s all skip the part where I want to freak out, run around and scream and cry, and see about getting us home. Plan?” Sarah Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay people! This week is a bit messed up for me, so here's the next chapter for you to enjoy, and I imagine the next update will be on Friday as I won't be able to get to a computer on Thursday *sighs*. Anyway, for now we get to find out what happened after the other Harry triggered the Dimensional Hotspot...

Chapter Two -

   Carry On Wayward Son

 

Once I rose above the noise and confusion

Just to get a glimpse beyond the illusion

I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man

Though my mind could think I still was a mad man

I hear the voices when I'm dreamin',

I can hear them say

 

Carry on my wayward son,

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Now don't you cry no more

 

Kansas

 

   Sarah’s eyes were stinging even before she opened them. Dust tickled her lungs and she woke coughing and spluttering, shards of glass spilling from every fold in her clothing. She shook her hair to dislodge as much debris as possible, then blinked in the bright sunshine, confused.

   She sat alone in the old classroom, and instantly her back was up, snatching for her wand amidst the glass and looking about the room. “Draco?” she whispered, her heart pounding. The last thing she remembered was the terrible storm and the huge window shattering. She must have hit her head or something because she’d definitely blacked out. She guessed she’d been there for some time, as the storm had completely blown itself out to blue skies again.

   Her heart was thudding and she gently touched the sore spot at the back of her head. Where was Draco? Had he left her? The thought flared anger through her, but she tried to cling to reason. He wouldn’t have left her passed out in the middle of a pool of broken glass, he just wouldn’t. There must be another explanation.

   And that made her nervous.

   Standing, she fired a quick ‘Reparo’ spell at the window. Once reassembled the pane looked more like crazy paving than a window, but at least all the shards were no longer lodged in her clothes or littering the floor.

   She looked at her watch, which told her the time was one o’clock and she’d been out for at least half an hour, if not more. The room looked exactly the same as when she’d entered it, it was just missing Draco. Her stomach was queasy. Had something bad happened to him?

   Well, she wasn’t going to find out hanging about in here. Her wand still clutched firmly in hand, she wrenched the heavy oak door open and looked both ways.

“Now, if I was a reformed, rather good looking ex-Death Eater,” she said to herself. “Where would I be hiding?”

 

***

 

   The headache came first. Before sight, sound or memory, the thud, thud, thud was what dragged Draco back into consciousness. Nausea rippled through him, and he felt limbs curling inwards as he tried to make sense of the world. His fingers began tingling; he took the fact he still had fingers to be a positive sign and worked up from there.

   Someone was calling his name, and he screwed up his closed eyelids against what little light was threatening to filter through them. He was lying down, but the ground was soft, almost like a bed. Memories of a classroom were coming back to him, a window, a storm.

   “How did this _happen!”_ demanded an unfamiliar voice. A man, Draco thought, his accent a clipped English that his elocution teacher would have approved of.

   Another voice sighed. “I was having a cup of tea,” said an Irish accent defensively. “And the next thing I know everyone’s yelling and fighting and – boom.” He sounded irritated, but something about this voice was familiar to Draco, reassuring.

   “Jia is simply going to have my guts for garters,” said the first man. “As if the situation wasn’t already bad enough.”

   Draco murmured and tried to stretch his legs, but they didn’t seem to want to listen to him just yet.

   “Is he waking up?” asked the Irish voice.

   “Draco?” This was a girl’s voice, and Draco felt the presence of the two men slipping away from him. The girl also sounded a bit familiar, wasn’t he just with a girl?

   Sarah. He suddenly remembered. “Sarah?” It wasn’t her voice he was sure, but she had been there, he’d tried to pull her away, the window, the glass… _his head._

   He managed to will movement from his tingling fingers, and they reached up for his temple, the pounding drum skin that was trying to keep his skull in place. “Sarah?”

   There was a pause, he could feel it. “Who’s Sarah?” said the other girl’s voice testily.

   There was nothing for it, Draco had to open his eyes. It took him a few minutes, and even then he had to blink fervently against the torch light swamping everything around him. There were a lot of people gathered around, and as he groped about him he realised he was lying on a sofa not a bed. It took a few more blinks for the crowd to come into focus.

   And then he wished it hadn’t.

   He was in the Slytherin common room. He gasped and flung himself against the back of the sofa, senses suddenly clear and sharp. _“Pansy?”_ Pansy Parkinson was a pug-faced girl with a bob of crow’s hair that Draco had spent the last few of his parents functions dodging for fear she would slobber all over him. Clingy, insecure and utterly deluded as she was, what shocked Draco most was that she and her family had fled the country the second the Dark Lord had fallen for fear of retribution from the Ministry, so what on Earth was she doing back at the school? And why had she brought him here, to this Godforsaken dungeon?

   Wildly he looked about the other faces; two large, oafish boys he vaguely remembered as being called Crabbe and Goyle flanked the Parkinson girl, and behind them was a mixture of the familiar but unwelcome, and plain strangers.

   “What am I doing here,” he blurted out at Pansy’s face, awash with concern that rankled him ever further. “What are _you_ doing here?”

   She looked hurt. “We were playing chess,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “You collapsed, I was so worried, you’ve been passed out for ages, we were going to take you to the medical wing-”

   “No,” said Draco, waving his hands up and swinging his legs around into a sitting position. “No, no, no. I was in one of the old History rooms, there was a storm, why did you bring me here? I don’t belong here.”

   Pansy looked at the two large boys, troubled. “Maybe…maybe you hit your head?” she said timidly. “We should get you to Pomfrey.” She reached forward to take his arm and he snatched away.

   “Get _off_ me,” he hissed, scrambling unsteadily to his feet as his vision swam and people gaped at him. He had to get out of this place and get back to Gryffindor. Hermione would know what to do. And Sarah, he had to find Sarah.

   Pansy sniffed back tears and looked up at him mournfully from the ground. Crabbe or Goyle, one of the two, folded his arms and scowled even further. “You alright mate?” he grunted.

   Draco was about to answer when he was stopped short by someone standing at the back of the crowd, hidden by a sheet of long brown hair. It was only when she made to step back and her hair swung away he recognized who it was. _“Blaise?”_ he said, and pushed through the throng before she could move any further. Her eyes widened and she made to step back, but Draco took hold of her shoulders, confusion firing through him. “What’s happened to you?” he asked in disbelief. It wasn’t just the hair; the clothes were all different, she was practically cowering before him, and…

   “Where’s your scar?” he demanded as his eyes swept over her unblemished face. “Blaise, I just saw you, what have you done to yourself?”

   She trembled like a rabbit caught in headlights. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, I don’t know…please let me go.”

   With horror Draco realized how hard his fingers had been digging into her in his panic. Instantly he let her go, and she fled down the stairs that led to the girls dormitories. Unfortunately, Pansy Parkinson found her voice again. “Draco Malfoy, just what is going on?” she cried, grabbing his shoulder and jerking him around. _“I_ was looking after you, then you start calling out some other girl’s name and run over to Blaise? Who’s _Sarah?”_

   He stared at he in disbelief. Was she getting jealous? The stupidity of such a notion brought him back to the matter at hand. He would find Blaise later, but right now he was in the wrong common room.   “I don’t know when you snuck back from Italy,” he spat at her. “Or why you dragged me back into this place, but you have five seconds to explain before I leave.”

   Pansy screwed up her tear streaked face. “I’ve never _been_ to Italy,” she shot back. “And nobody dragged you anywhere, you’ve been here the whole morning since breakfast.”

   Draco looked at them coldly. He didn’t know what they were up to, but he was pretty certain he preferred being hung out of the train by the Gryffindors; at least they had the decency to be upfront about assaulting him. “This conversation is over,” he snapped, and moved to where he remembered the exit being.

   “Malfoy, wait,” called out one of the brutish boys. Draco whirled on his feet, fists and jaw equally clenched.

   _“Don’t_ you call me that!” he snarled. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m finished here. And whatever you’ve done to Blaise,” he added, finger jabbing at them threateningly. “You’ve got until dinner to fix it, before I come back and make you fix it, got it?”

 

***

 

   He leant against the wall outside the Slytherin common room entrance panting, his head dizzy and still throbbing with a terrible dull banging. He felt violated, like he needed a shower. How _dare_ they bring him back there! That wasn’t who he was anymore, they had no right.

   It was then he finally looked down and realized he was wearing different clothes. He gaped, unsure what to think. Had they changed him? Or had he just forgotten what he’d put on this morning? Was it still Sunday, had he lost more time than he thought? He didn’t know.

   His insides fluttered as he looked back at the common room. He hadn’t wanted to leave Blaise; he’d just wanted to escape the confines of those dank walls, but now he was out and had some fresh breath in him he felt guilty. She obviously wasn’t right. But perhaps he would be better to find some answers of his own then come back to help her? He was desperate to talk to Hermione, and he needed to find Sarah. Why hadn’t they taken her with him? If they’d hurt her…

   He made up his mind and began hurrying back to the Gryffindor common room. Hopefully Hermione would be there, and Sarah too. It was as good as place as any to start, but if not the library was a very good second option. With a small plan in place he felt better, and increased his stride to a jog.

   At the last moment he took a turn and swung by the History of Magic classroom. He guessed in would be fruitless and he was right; it was empty save for several of the usual choice rude words scrawled across the blackboard and a handful of upturned chairs strewn around the tables at the edge of the room. The window he vaguely remembered splintering on top of he and Sarah was now hastily patched up like a cracked porcelain vase. He frowned at it before resuming his dash towards the Gryffindor common room.

   He’d only gone up one flight of stairs before the back of a familiar head made his insides collapse in relief. “Sarah!” he called out, hands on hips as he sucked in a few triumphant breaths. She spun around at the end of the corridor, wand raised, hackles up, until she saw his face.

There was a brief moment of delight, that was clouded over almost instantaneously and her feet took over; she marched over, and thumped him firmly on the shoulder. “Where the HELL have you been?” she shouted, tears in her eyes. Draco’s previous guilt trebled.

   “Are you alright?” he fumbled. “I don’t know if someone attacked us or something – I woke up in the Slytherin Common Room.” Her eyes narrowed so he carried on. “I swear to you, we were moving away from that glass, and then-”

   “-I conked out,” she finished. “And I guess you did too.” She folded her arms and furrowed her brow. Her eyes swept him up and down. “You’re wearing different clothes.”

   Draco shrugged the sleeves, holding them up as if to prove how true her words were. “Yeah,” he said, slowly. “I’m starting to think maybe we’ve been gone a long time or something – like a _really_ long time. I just saw Blaise – her hair was really long and she seemed almost scared of me or something?”

   Sarah Potter’s sapphire blue eyes considered him for a little too long. “Yeah…” she said. “Or something.”

   Draco, looked carefully at her, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “I was on my way to the Gryffindor Tower, to find Hermione…” or something. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

   Sarah nodded. “Sounds fine to me,” she muttered, and started off at a run. He did likewise, hot on her heals. They pelted up the familiar route, darting through any and all of the shortcuts they knew between them. It was when they were coming out of one such passage (a tunnel that connected one tapestry of a great feast to another depicting its aftermath) that Draco collided full on with a girl on the other side. It wasn’t until they were both sprawled on the floor, library books scattered all around them that Draco realized who it was.

   _“Hermione!”_ he breathed out as Sarah did her best not to topple over him as she leapt from behind the tapestry. His face broke into a bright smile as he reached out for her arm.

   Hermione shot back as if his hand was electrified. “Get _away_ from me Malfoy!” she shrieked, a look of horror crossing her features. “Just what the Hell do you think you’re doing?” She scrambled to her feet, sweeping up the books she had dropped when they had run into each other. “You should watch where you’re going! Plus,” she said, brandishing a torn copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ at him. “You hurt the books.”

   Draco couldn’t summon a single word as she stalked off, flicking her especially curly hair back and huffing loudly. Bile rose in his throat. What about last night? he wanted to call after her. What about by the forest this morning, was that a lie? Had she been _playing_ with him? He was frozen stiff, dread and embarrassment washing through him. Had she been having a laugh with Potter this entire time?

   “Draco?” said Sarah softly, touching his arm. He’d completely forgotten she was there, and hastily got to his feet. “Are you-”

   “I’m fine,” he snapped, blinking his eyes rapidly. “I’m…I’m just…” He opened and closed his fists. “Let’s just get to the common room.”

   They walked briskly rather than running. Draco still wanted to get to the tower, it was the only place that felt like home and he wanted to rid himself of the coldness from Slytherin dungeon. But a large reason why he’d wanted to go there had just humiliated and scorned him. Even with Sarah standing beside him he felt horribly alone.

   Dean, he thought. Dean Thomas, he’ll still be there, he won’t give a flying monkey’s what anyone else will think. Draco felt warmed, even hopeful, and moved a little faster.

   The portrait of the Fat Lady was swinging open as they approached, and the two of them skidded to a halt before crashing into the frame. “Oh,” said the girl emerging in surprise. “Sorry, I-” she looked them up and down, and Draco suddenly realized she was Sarah’s friend Natalie McDonald. She had Quidditch robes on and held an old Cleansweep in one hand, the portrait edge in the other. “Can I help you?”

   Sarah regarded her for a moment. “We’re just going into the common room,” she told her uncertainly.

   Natalie’s eyes flicked from her, then narrowed on Draco. “Sorry,” she said slowly. “I didn’t realise.” She paused, one foot in and one foot out of the entrance. “You do know guests aren’t really allowed without permission?”

   Draco flared. “Guests?” he snarled, grabbing onto the painting and yanking it from her grasp. She tumbled out into the corridor and stared wide eyed at him.

   “Sorry,” she mumbled again, then sped off out of sight. 

   “What the Hell was that about?” demanded Draco, but Sarah was just staring after her best friend, mouth hanging open.

   “I have no idea,” she said, slowly turning and crawling into the entranceway. “But I’m not sure I liked it.”

   Draco followed behind her, heart thumping at the eagerness of seeing the familiar hangings and burning fireplace, but as soon as he and Sarah dropped into the common room all his eagerness vanished, and his heart thumped in panic instead.

   Being a Sunday the room was fairly packed with Gryffindors socializing and working on assignments. And at the sight of Draco and Sarah, all of those nearest to them stopped what they were doing and stared.

   A girl Draco didn’t recognize with brilliant red hair was standing by one of the windows, riffling through a stack of parchment and talking to a shorter boy with mousy brown hair. Draco sort of recognized him as a Muggle born from the year below; he remembered the old fashioned camera around his scrawny neck more than his face. The two laughed as the girl happened to look over in Draco and Sarah’s direction. A look of confusion flashed across her face, only to be replaced with one of, well, horror. She gasped and let out a shrill yelp, before dropping her entire pile of papers. The people around her initially laughed at her apparent clumsiness, but as soon as they looked over in the same direction, the conversation stilted horribly, and the entire rest of the room turned to stare.

   “What’s going on,” whispered Sarah, moving closer to Draco and taking hold of his shirt sleeve. “What’s going on!” she shouted at the room. “What are you all staring at!”

   The girl by the fireplace moved forwards, colour rising in her cheeks to match her crimson hair. “I think,” she said, trembling slightly with anger. “You’re in the wrong place. I don’t know how you got here, but I think it’s best you leave.”

   Draco had had just about enough of this. “This is _my_ common room,” he yelled back, eyes sweeping round the room for a friendly face and finding none. “I don’t know what everyone’s playing at but it ends now!”

   People stared at him in confusion, and the red-head went to say something more, but she was distracted by a voice that floated up through the silence from the stairway on the other side of the room.

   “And _then,”_ the bodiless voice said. “He reached out to touch me – as if running into me wasn’t bad enough! I think I need a shower, filthy little…”

   The voice trailed off as its owner reached the base of the stairs, and Draco’s insides rinsed cold all over again. Hermione had deposited her books somewhere, and was now complaining cross-armed to another red-head, this one a tall boy with a long nose. She really did hate him then, Draco thought miserably.

   Hermione realised instantly that everyone was quiet in the common room, and it didn’t take her long to see why. “YOU!” she bellowed incredulously, marching away from the red haired boy – who’s whole face had dropped in shock – and stopping in the middle of the room. “How did you get in here?” she demand, shaking a finger at him. “What do you want?”

   “Hermione,” Draco tried, his voice sounding pitiful in his own ears. “It’s me,” he stammered. “Please, don’t do this, not here.”

   “Do what?” asked the red haired boy, stomping over to Hermione. “You heard her Malfoy, what do you want?”

   “Sarah?”

   Hermione and the boy turned to look behind them, and Draco couldn’t help but groan as he saw who had spoken. Potter stood at the base of the stairs where Hermione had just come from, his eyes fixated on his little sister.

   Sarah still had a hold of Draco’s sleeve, but the sight of Harry seemed to bolster her. “Everyone’s being a massive _idiot,”_ she announced scathingly, throwing her shoulders back and standing even closer to Draco.

   Hermione turned back around and eyed her suspiciously. “Who are you anyway?” Draco felt all the fight blow out of Sarah with one simple question.

   “What?” she said, looking from Hermione to Harry. “W-what do you mean?”

   Harry had reached Hermione and the other boy, and pushed gently past them as the entire Gryffindor common room watched on. “Sarah?” he repeated again. Then… “Draco?”

   Draco raised an eyebrow. When had he even used his first name? he thought uneasily. Was this all part of his and Hermione’s game?

   “How…” Potter continued, looking between the two of them in confusion. “Is it…is it really you?”

   “Well who else would it be?” asked the youngest Potter crossly.

   Harry covered his mouth and seemed to stifle a laugh. Then it became a chuckle, a full on delighted hoot. His shoulders shook, before a he took a long, deep breath to steady himself and flung his arms around Sarah.

   “I never thought I’d see you again,” he cried as he lifted her off the ground. “How can…how did…”

   “Harry,” said Hermione, frowning and putting her hands on her hips. “Just what-”

   But she froze mid-sentence. Because just then Harry Potter let go of his little sister, threw his arms around Draco Malfoy, and embraced him like a long lost brother.

 

***

 

   The common room went berserk with people shouting and gasping in shock. Harry was pretty sure Ginny Weasley cried out something profane, but he barely heard any of it. He let Draco go and held his shoulders, studying his astonished looking face. Sarah gawped as she groped to hold onto the blond boy’s sleeve again.

   “Have you lost your senses?” said Draco, unmoving. His grey eyes were wide with what almost seemed like fear. People, including Ron and Hermione, were still yelling and pushing forward, but Harry just let himself be jostled, and smiled at Draco. He knew it was him, without a shadow of a doubt – he would have known even if Sarah hadn’t been standing right beside him to prove it. It was those grey eyes that did it.

   “You’ve crossed over,” he said, feeling dizzy. “Haven’t you. Through the History classroom.” He saw Sarah’s face from the corner of his eye go very still, but Draco still stared. Ron was hollering in his ear.

   “What are you talking about Potter?” Draco whispered, chest rising and falling. Harry felt a stab of sympathy for them both, remembering his own terror when he’d fallen through the dimensional door last November. He’d never felt more alone.

   Right now though he felt he’d never been happier to see someone in his entire life. It hadn’t been a dream, he knew it hadn’t, they were standing there before him and somewhere in a universe far, far away the parents he’d met really were alive, more alive than he ever could have imagined.

   “It’s okay,” Harry whispered back as Hermione pulled at his clothes and the Gryffindors bellowed themselves hoarse. “Look at your arm.” His eyes flicked down to Draco’s right wrist, and very slowly the other boy pulled up his sleeve.

   When Harry had been sat on that unfamiliar bed, trying to listen through that terrible headache to what his mother, his actual mother, had been trying to tell him, not one word had sunk in until he had crossed to the other side of the room and seen for himself the missing lightning bolt reflected in the mirror in the wardrobe.

   So when Draco looked down and saw there was no lattice of silvery scars, no dark mark blemishing his skin, Harry didn’t blame his knees for buckling. He still had a hold of his shoulders so was able to help him keep standing as he took short, sharp breaths and stared at his arm. “We need to get out of here,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione, throwing his arm around Draco’s shoulders and starting to move them all through the throng. Sarah kept a tight hold of Draco’s hand, face white as a sheet. The shouting died down and people just gaped instead as Harry Potter lead a shaking Draco Malfoy through the Gryffindor common room up towards the dormitories.

   He pushed open the door to the Sixth Year boy’s room, and was unsurprised to find Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas still sitting on their beds where he’d left them five minutes ago. Seamus and Dean however were very surprised.

   “What the-” cried Seamus, leaping to his feet in horror at the sight of Draco Malfoy. But Sarah Potter cut him off. Since Harry had mentioned the history classroom, he swore she hadn’t even blinked, and only moved because Draco’s hand was connected to her own. But as she entered the room and her eyes fell on Seamus, and she dropped Draco’s hand instantly.

   “No,” she breathed. “No, no, no, _no!”_ Tears burst into life, cascading in black lines down her face as she covered her mouth with her hands and stumbled backwards until she hit the dormitory wall. “Y-you,” she stammered, wet blue eyes wide as saucers. “You’re not, you’re…I saw you…”

   Seamus froze, as did Dean by his shoulder. The Irish boy looked to Harry. “What’s going on?” he asked slowly.

   Harry considered Draco, who he was still trying to support despite the fact the blond boy was much taller than him, his sobbing little sister, and Ron and Hermione, both thoroughly confused behind him. “It’s…a bit complicated,” he admitted. “Could you give us the room for a while?”

   Seamus scowled at Draco, but his attention was mostly caught by Sarah, who was now hugging herself, still trying to stop crying but unable to tear her eyes away from Seamus. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “Sure thing mate.” Dean nodded at him, and together the two boys edged towards the door.

   When it was closed behind them, Hermione spun on Harry. “Harry Potter!” she shrieked, jabbing her finger at him. “What the blazes is going on! And what is _he_ doing here!”

   Draco detangled himself from under Harry’s arm and leant against the bed post, gulping down air. “The thunder storm,” he breathed, staring at Harry’s bedspread. “The window.”

   Harry moved over to Sarah, who was still sobbing uncontrollably from the shock of seeing Seamus Finnigan. “He died,” she whimpered and Harry took her in his arms. “There was…the blood…I saw, I saw…”

   “It’s alright,” he told her. “I know you did, but it’s okay, it’s different here.”

   “Harry-” Hermione began demanding again, but he cut her off.

   “Hermione, Ron,” he addressed them, the calmness of his voice surprising even himself. “I’d like you to meet my sister, Sarah Potter.” They stared.

   “You what?” said Ron, hands slack by his side. Hermione’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows knitted into such a frown Harry thought it must have hurt her head.

   “My sister,” he repeated. “From the world I went to last November. She’s who I went to Germany to save.”

   Ron looked blankly between the two Potters as Sarah managed to calm her crying down to a series of shuddering, wet gasps of air. “But…you don’t have a sister.”

   Harry looked down at her and rubbed her arm. She managed a weak smile and wiped her sleeve across her eyes, smearing black eyeliner all over her face. She had several studs in her ears, nose and eyebrow, her eyes were drenched in black make-up and her hair was all chopped up into different lengths, but there was no mistaking her. “She’s crossed over,” he said, wiping away the eyeliner with his thumb. “Haven’t you?”

   Sarah sniffed and looked over at the bed where Seamus had been sitting. “There was a storm out of nowhere,” she said. “Just like Sirius said. I think we might have been in same classroom as well.”

   “We can’t,” said Draco suddenly, lurching from the bed and standing to face Harry. “We can’t have, we didn’t do anything. Sirius said that you – he – there was a lot of magic being thrown around, you – he was furious, that’s what triggered it, we didn’t do any of that.”

   “But you did wake up in the Slytherin common room,” Sarah protested. “With different clothes, and you said Blaise was different too?”

   Draco looked miserable, and Harry almost wanted to give him a hug too. “Blaise had long hair, didn’t she?” he said instead. Draco couldn’t seem to find any words; his eyes began darting about the room as he stepped this way and that – he looked at his clothes, and then pulled up the sleeve again and just stared at where the Dark Mark should have been.

   Harry decided some more proof was needed, so he let go of Sarah and knelt beside his bed. He could feel everyone watching him as he rummaged around in his trunk, and eventually pulled out his old family photo album that Hagrid had given him years ago. He walked back over to the group and let it fall open at the back page. It was blank. Holding his wand up, he aimed a spell at it, and held it up so everyone could see the photo that appeared there.

   “That’s from our wall!” cried Sarah as Ron and Hermione gawped. He’d never shown it to them. The Potter family portrait waved and smiled as always. Photo Harry pinched photo Sarah, who gave him a dig in his ribs for his trouble. “We wondered where that went!”

   “You never showed us that,” said Ron, a little hurt. Harry shrugged; he’d not looked at it himself in months.

   “It didn’t feel right,” he said apologetically. “But you’re right Sarah, this is the photo I stole from your wall. I don’t’ know how it managed to cross over with me, but it did, just like you have now.”

   Draco folded his arms. “So…we’re in another reality. Your reality.”

   “It’s okay,” said Sarah, with a confidence that surprised Harry. She wiped the last of the make-up smears from her face (though her eyes were still entirely black noted Harry, impressed) and walked over to hug Draco. Silently, he accepted her embrace, resting his head on top of hers and staring at the floor.

   “I don’t believe it,” he whispered after a moment or two. “It just can’t…”

   “That’s what I thought last year,” said Harry, casting a glance at the dumbstruck Hermione and Ron watching on and dropping the album back on his bed. “But there’s only so much you can argue with a dead person standing right in front of you.”

   Sarah’s face threatened to crumble again. “Seamus,” she whispered, clinging tighter onto Draco.

   “But how?” said the blond boy again. “Didn’t you tell Sirius you practically ripped open the doorway? You were screaming and shouting and levitated a table through the window?” He took a deep breath, gathering his wits together. “There was a big storm, I’ll give you that-”

   “It came out of nowhere,” agreed Sarah, lifting her head up.

   “But we were literally just sitting there,” finished Draco.

   “And now we’re here,” said Sarah, looking towards Harry.

   “And now you’re here,” he told her back. He sighed and crossed his arms. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I’m not going to lie – it’s good to see you.”

   Draco seemed to have digested what they were telling him, and upon coming to some sort of acceptance he let go of Sarah, marched over and shoved Harry square on the chest. “Good to see us!” he cried, incredulous, but without any real malice. Ron made a noise and jumped in front of Harry, but Draco carried on all the same. “Good to see us? You _left_ us with him! That bloody… _wanker_ who has the audacity to run around _looking_ like you!”

   “Draco,” said Sarah, almost warningly, but Draco persisted.

   _“I’m_ glad to see you so I can yell at _you_ for having such a rotten doppelganger! Why the Hell did you have to go back?” He was half laughing now as he jammed his hands on his hips and looked at Harry sheepishly. “I’d bloody punch you but I think you’re mate there might kill me.”

   Ron snapped to attention at being referred to, and bristled his shoulders indignantly. “Yeah, I am his mate,” he told him. “And I still have no idea what you’re doing in our dorm, Malfoy.”

   The laughter dropped from Draco’s face, but Harry was quick to jump in. “Don’t you see though, it _isn’t_ Malfoy.” He swept his hand up and down. “He’s Draco, he’s nothing like the boy you know.”

   Ron crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. “He certainly looks the same.”

   “No he doesn’t,” said Hermione, speaking for the first time since Harry had introduced his sister. She bit her lip and stared at Draco thoughtfully. “Everything about him is different.”

   A ghost of a smile lit up Draco’s face. “Ooh!” cried Sarah happily at Hermione, letting go of Draco in excitement. “And guess what, in our world, he’s also your-”

   “Housemate,” said Draco a little too loudly. He shot a look at Sarah then tried a bigger smile. “The school reopened a few weeks ago and I got resorted into Gryffindor.”

   Ron folded his arms. “Well that would have to be an alternative reality, wouldn’t it?”

   “Ron,” said Harry good naturedly. “Shut up.”

   “Ron Weasley?” Sarah clarified. Harry nodded, and Sarah edged a little bit away from the red head. Harry wondered if she’d ever known him in her own world, or if he’d died too long ago for that.

   Harry turned his attention back to Draco and Sarah, his head still reeling. It had been an ordinary Sunday afternoon ten minutes ago, and now everything was different. “Well, as thrilled as I am to see you,” he said, “from what you’ve said I honestly don’t have a clue how you got here.”

   “Um,” said Hermione. Everyone turned to look at her. “I did read something over the summer that might explain it.”

   Harry felt a tingle of uneasiness flutter through him. “I didn’t know you did any more research?”

   Hermione looked awkward. “Well, you wouldn’t really talk about it, and I was curious.”

   Harry felt a small flurry of guilt follow on from the uneasiness. She had the truth of it there, but he still didn’t really want to talk about it.

   When Harry had returned last November, after he had gone to the Ministry and then finally admitted to everyone at school he’d returned, he found talking about his experiences in the alternate reality too painful. He hadn’t been able to look at Seamus for the best part of a week, and hearing Malfoy’s taunts became twice as painful as ever before.

   After a few days, Dumbledore had summoned Harry, along with Ron and Hermione for the part they’d played in his return, to his office to explain in detail what had happened since he’d broken the window in the old History of Magic classroom. He’d gone over every detail as best he could; from meeting his alternate family, to exposing Wormtail, getting Draco’s help and travelling to Germany, right up until the enchanted letter that had brought him home and his exploits with Cornelius Fudge. After that, no matter how much Hermione and Ron pressed, he avoided any attempts to bring it up again.

   He knew his friends were only concerned for his well being, but there was also a fascination with the other world that Harry couldn’t stomach. Ron hadn’t been too keen once he found out he and his entire family’s counterparts were dead, but Hermione had a million questions that Harry didn’t have the strength to answer. They all lead back to the parents he would never see again, the sister that never lived.

   But

here she was, larger than life, accompanied by Draco Malfoy’s far superior alter ego. Harry smiled. They would have to go away again, soon – he knew that. But for now, he just wanted to revel in the glimpse they were giving him back into the life he’d lost.

   “What did you find out?” he asked Hermione, who seemed relieved he wasn’t upset with her.

   “Well,” she began, spreading out her hands as she often did when explaining something. “There’s not a lot out there, but I did find something that said once a pathway had been established, it weakens the barriers between realities, making it much easier to travel back and forth at that location.”

   “So we just fell though?” asked Draco. Hermione shook her head.

   “I’m sure there would have to be something that triggered it, it just wouldn’t have taken half as much effort as before.”

   Sarah shrugged. “I guess I was feeling a little low,” she admitted. “The point is we’re here now.” She crossed her arms and looked from Draco to Hermione and Harry. “So Draco ended up in the Slytherin common room because that’s where the other Draco was before?”

   Harry considered it. “I guess so, it seems likely. I woke up where your Harry had been.”

   Sarah bit her lip. “But I stayed in the History room because I don’t have a counterpart? Because I was never born here?”

   Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably. “No. I mean yes.”

   Sarah nodded. “Well, considering I shouldn’t exist,” she said, then jabbed her finger at Ron. “And red-head here and Seamus should be dead, let’s all skip the part where I want to freak out, run around and scream and cry, and see about getting us home. Plan?”

 

***

 

   Draco almost tripped down the stairs that took them back down to the Gryffindor common room. True, he was in the wrong plane of existence, and this posed several immediate problems. But he had Harry back, the real one. And Hermione didn’t hate him. His Hermione anyway.

   He looked at her counterpart as they traveled downwards and noticed several subtle differences that would have been obvious if he’d looked before. She looked far more like the girl he’d meet at Godric’s Hollow, the one with the bushy hair and purple Muggle school uniform. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her shoes barely had a heal on them at all; she looked more like herself, but there was an air of confidence about her that even his own Hermione hadn’t reached yet.

   “What?” she snapped as they entered the common room. It was evident a lot of people had drifted away since the excitement they caused before, but there was a good many people still lingering, doing homework or playing games, and they all looked up as the gaggle made their way through.

   “Erm, nothing,” mumbled Draco, catching sight of Parvati Patil sitting whispering to Lavender Brown. She looked very different to the girl he usually avoided, most notably a lot less skinny. The two girls beckoned for Hermione to come over, but she hastily waved them away and hurried on to the common room exit. Draco looked back at Lavender as the girls stared open mouthed at him, and he rushed to catch up with Hermione.

   “Isn’t Lavender you best friend?” he asked as they clambered back out into the corridor. He wished he hadn’t asked it almost right away. The boy called Ron looked almost hostile, and Hermione just raised an eyebrow.

   “Uh,” she said. “Not really.”

   Draco tired not to let the embarrassment creep too visibly up his neck. “Oh, I…sorry,” he fumbled. “I guess, she just is in our world.”

   “What do you care anyway?” asked Ron hotly, slipping his arm through Hermione’s to walk her away. Draco felt an unbidden wave of jealousy run through him that he tried to chase away. This boy was dead in his world, his whole family in fact – he remembered his father crowing over it. His Hermione would never meet him so let this one be protective over her, what did it matter to him?

   He decided not to answer that.

   “So will Dumbledore know what to do?” asked Sarah, shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her velvety black skirt.

   “He did last time,” answered Hermione, who Draco was relieved to see had detangled herself from Ron Weasley. “But it’s different pulling someone back to where they should be, like we did with Harry. All he had to do was grab onto the preverbal rope and yank for us to bring him home. This way round will be more like trying to launch the rope through a small hole whilst standing on the other side of a Quidditch pitch.”

   Sarah and Draco looked at one another. “Oh,” he said. “Marvelous.”

   “Maybe someone will pull us back from our side?” said Sarah hopefully.

   Draco made a scornful noise. “You maybe,” he said, only half joking. “I’m sure your brother would happily loose me forever in some alternate reality. I’m sure it would all be highly convenient for him.”

   Sarah frowned at him but didn’t say anything to contradict him.

   “So…” said the real Harry thoughtfully as they passed through the same secret corridor behind the two feast paintings. This one was the aftermath, and a knight belched loudly at them as a fair maid waltzed drunkenly around by herself singing a song of dragons. “You don’t get on with the other Harry?”

   Hermione looked around interested, but Ron crossed his arms in what Draco felt was protest at Harry acknowledging his existence. Draco didn’t really mind, he was sure the other Draco was just as obnoxious as he’d once been, the Weasley boy probably had every right to hate him. Draco didn’t trust himself to answer Harry’s question, he was still too bitter about the whole affair, so he looked to Sarah instead.

   “Well,” she said, picking her words carefully. “Harry’s had a really tough time…adjusting. Seamus’ death hit him really hard.”

   Draco saw Harry visibly flinch. He knew no matter what the other Harry said, this Harry felt terribly guilty about his friend’s death at the Death Eater’s battle in Germany. “He should blame me,” he said quietly. “Not you. I should never have let Seamus go.”

   “Oh he blames you alright,” said Draco ruefully, unable to stop himself. “You, me, Hermione. He’s not too hot with your parents for not noticing he wasn’t himself either – I’d say on the whole he’s a very angry young man who chooses to deal with the situation by yelling at everyone and snogging Parvati bloody Patil.”

   “Parvati bloody Patil,” echoed Sarah, folding her arms and scowling.

   Draco realized everyone had stopped walking and was now staring at him with raised eyebrows.

   “Harry hates me?” said Hermione, hurt.

   “I’m mad at my parents?” said Harry with equal disbelief.

   “You’re snogging _Parvati?”_ demanded Ron.

   “Well,” said Sarah, pragmatically. “Think about it. Someone highjack’s your body for a couple of days, no one notices and when you come back one of your best friends has been murdered and everybody thinks you defeated the most evil wizard of all time. Wouldn’t you go a bit mental?”

   “Why not tell them it was our Harry?” asked Ron indignantly. Clearly he didn’t like the idea of the other Harry taking credit for what this Harry did either.

   “And have everybody trying to jump to alternate dimensions?” replied Sarah, repeating the words Draco had heard Sirius use countless times. “It would be carnage.”

   “But how could he hate his parents?” asked Harry. He looked so deflated, thought Draco, so sad. “Doesn’t he know how lucky he is to have them?”

Draco shifted his weight. He was about to open his mouth to reiterate that the Harry of their world was a selfish, hot-headed antagonist who was content to wallow in his self pity, when a sudden thought struck him. Where were this Draco’s parents? Could it be, like Harry when he crossed over, that his mother was alive in this world? The notion rendered him dumb. He slowly closed his mouth and rubbed where his Dark Mark should have been, staring listlessly at the wall. Was his mother _alive?_

   Sarah shrugged at Harry’s question. “He doesn’t see it like that,” Draco vaguely heard her answer. “He just sees what he’s lost, and Parvati eggs him on.”

   “Parvati _Patil?”_ repeated Ron, still incredulous. “Did you have, like, _no_ other girlfriend options?”

   “Shut up Ron,” muttered Hermione. She had folded her arms and was staring intently out the window. Harry spotted what she was doing at snapped from his reverie instantly.

   “Did you see something?”

   Hermione frowned, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not sure.” Draco turned and looked out the window too; the little village of Hogsmeade was sitting perfectly in the middle of the frame, and looked like it always did as far as Draco could tell.

   “What are you looking for?” he asked.

   “Distress sparks,” she told him. “Everywhere’s on high alert, I thought I saw…probably just something reflecting in the sunlight, it is unusually bright out there.” She turned back to face the group and smiled. “Sorry, what were we saying?”

   Draco rubbed his head. It still throbbed horribly, but he felt maybe it was easing.

   “We were talking about how I’m a bit of an idiot in the other world,” supplied Harry, which made Draco wince.

   “Yeah,” he conceded, “but it seems like I’m bit of a wanker here in your world, so maybe it’s just the way it goes.” Thinking of his doppelganger made him think of his mother again. Does he know how lucky he is, like Harry said? Is she even alive? He was too scared to ask, for fear of the answer he might get. Right now the possibility hung there, like a dream half remembered. Right now the fact it could still be real almost made it real. It was more than he’d ever dared hope.

   “So…why are they on high alert?” asked Sarah, peering out at the little wizarding village below them. “And who’s ‘they’ for that matter – do you mean the teachers?”

   Harry finally turned his attention from the window and looked at his sister. Draco liked the warmth with which he did it; he’d grown tired of the Harry of his world continuously making everybody around him feel like they were victimizing him by just waking up in the morning. The bright sunlight caught on the many earrings in Sarah’s right ear and cast a pattern on the wall.

   “Yeah,” replied Harry. “The teachers keep an eye out, and the prefects, but there are actually aurors from the Ministry here, and in Hogsmeade. If there’s any sign of trouble, they send up sparks, and whoever sees comes to help.”

   “Define trouble,” said Draco, an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

   “Well…” said Ron. “Harry finally convinced Fudge that You-Know-Who came back to full strength last summer.”

   “It was more the attacks on Muggle schools, bridges and hospitals that convinced him,” said Harry darkly. “But yeah, they eventually started listening.”

   “There’s people from the Ministry all over the country now,” added Hermione.

   The uneasiness Draco had been feeling turned to a fully-fledged pit of snakes writhing around in his guts, and he had to turn away from them as the feeling got too much. An orphanage, that’s what his mother had been trying to defend, a bloody orphanage. And here Voldemort was again, a different reality, but still attacking defenseless Muggle kids.

   “Draco,” said Sarah, touching his arm. “Draco are you alright.”

   He turned back around. “Fine,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat. “So, you thought you saw the sparks go up.”

   Hermione shrugged. “I’m not sure, there have been a few false alarms since coming back this term, it was probably-”

   “Not a false alarm!” cried Harry, flinging himself at the window sill. Draco spun around as the others followed. The air above Hogsmeade was littered with exploding lights. “Really not a false alarm!”

 

***

 

   “What do we do?” cried Sarah, panic rising in her gullet. Death Eaters. Here. How was it possible? Her stomach twisted, vaulting her back to that miserable dungeon in Germany, the ropes raw on her wrists and the smell of their rotten breath. This may be another reality, but these were still the same people who had kidnapped her. Who had hurt her.

   “We have to help them,” said Harry, moving away from the window.

   “Wait, shouldn’t we warn somebody,” asked Hermione, not moving to follow. “Dumbledore should know, he’ll want to help, and McGonagall.”

   Harry blinked at her. “You honestly think everyone in the entire castle didn’t just see that?” His tone was confused more than petulant. Colour rose into Hermione’s cheeks.

   “Oh, er, I guess,” she said.

   “Harry!” cried an Irish voice as a couple of sets of feet ran down the corridor towards them. Sarah felt herself blanche as Seamus Finnigan came into view, with Dean Thomas by his side. I saw you die, she thought as her fingers went numb. I saw you die, there was so much blood.

   “Did you see! The fireworks!” called Seamus as they ran past. “We’re going to tell McGonagall!”

   Sarah and the others watched them retreat around the corner. Hermione raised her eyebrow at Harry, as if to challenge him on how silly he thought her idea was now. “Okay,” he conceded. “So _if_ the teachers managed to miss the light display, Seamus and Dean will now go and tell them.”

   Hermione ‘harrumphed’ and strode off. “So…you want to go help?” asked Ron, unsure. Draco was still staring out the window looking frighteningly pale. His lips and hair were almost translucent in the strong autumn sunlight.

   “Nobody else knows about the passageway as far as we know,” said Harry, marching off, forcing the other three to follow as they caught up with Hermione. “We can sneak in. I don’t mind going by myself.”

   Ron Weasley rubbed his head as they hurried along the corridor. “Hold on, hold on, hold on. We were just dealing with alternate realities. Are we seriously now dealing with Death Eaters?”

   Harry gave him a helpless look. “I guess,” he said, holding his hands out imploringly. “I’m sorry they didn’t check your schedule before they started attacking innocent people.”

   Ron frowned. “All I meant was that it’s a bit unlikely, what are the chances? And of course we’re coming with you, don’t ask stupid questions.”

   Sarah thought maybe she should be more surprised that Harry was running head-long into danger when any normal person would be running the other way, but this was the Harry who had travelled all the way to the Black Forest for her, battled the Death Eaters and even Lord Voldemort to save her. What were a few fireworks?

   “We should go get the invisibility cloak,” suggested Hermione. Invisibility cloak? Sarah frowned. Did she mean her dad’s invisibility cloak? A pang of irrational jealousy flashed through her; she’d always coveted that particular item from her dad’s secret stash of ‘up-to-no-good-stuff’ as her mum always called it.

   “No time,” said Harry coming to a halt in front of a statue of a one-eyed-witch and resting his hand on her head.

   “If Death Eaters are attacking the village,” said Draco slowly. “They could come up to the school?” Harry considered him a moment, as did Sarah. Was he thinking about what had happened at their own school before, when he’d helped Voldemort in and kill all those people? He was bound to be, she reasoned, and Harry seemed to think the same.

   “Then if they do,” said Harry, transferring his hand from the statue to Draco’s shoulder. “We’ll stop them.”

   “Yeah,” said Ron.

   “Yeah!” cried Sarah, a fire lighting in her belly. Draco and Harry’s heads snapped in her direction simultaneously.

   “You’re not coming,” said Draco, horror struck.

   “No way,” added Harry. Sarah stared at them in disbelief.

   “As if I’m letting you out of my sight until I get back home!” she cried, outraged by the suggestion. “Anything could happen!”

   Harry ground his teeth and looked at the three older students standing by him. Ron glanced warily at her then shifted his feet. “She’s got a point mate,” he said. “What else are we gonna do with her?” Sarah resented the implication she needed a baby-sitter, but her determination not to be left behind kept her mouth shut.

   “Fine,” said Harry, throwing up his hands. “But you’ve got to promise to do exactly what I say, understood?”

   “Understood,” said Sarah enthusiastically.

   Harry raised his eyebrow at Draco, then tapped the statue and said _“Dissendium.”_ The one-eyed-witch obediently sprung to life, and let the five students hurry down into the secret tunnel behind. The passageway was just tall enough for Ron and Draco, and wide enough to allow two to walk side by side, but at the rate they were running they naturally fell into single file. Torches lit their way, but the intervals were wide and often they found themselves in dark shadows.

   Sarah’s heart seemed like it might actually shatter her rib cage. She gasped down lungfulls of cold, dank air to try and subdue the dizziness, but adrenaline was thumping through her system, kicking it into panic mode.

   This was too much, one side of her brain was screaming. An hour ago she was sitting on the windowsill of a deserted classroom, musing over all her ‘problems’. The current problems would send her old ones running for the hills she had no doubt. How had her and Draco ended up in an alternate reality, and how the Hell were they going to get home? And how could it be possible that the moment they showed up there were Death Eaters ransacking the village below?

   Her wrists burned. She ignored them, she knew it was phantom pain, her brain just reacting to the fear fluttering through her chest, but even so it felt like the rope was chaffing her skin bloody again. They can’t hurt me, she told herself, clutching her fist around her wand. Harry and Draco are here, and Hermione’s the cleverest witch in the school. They won’t let them hurt you.

   But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to be able to defend herself, she didn’t want to be at anybody’s mercy. She hardly knew any spells and despite growing over the summer and putting on a bit of weight, she was still pretty small.

   She slipped on a mossy patch on the dark tunnel floor, and found her anger spiking. So what! she told herself as she pushed ahead, sucking air into her lungs and hunting for any more slippery patches in the dim torch light. She knew a few defensive spells from Remus, and a few not-exactly-legal ones that Sirius had taught her. She would give them Hell if they tried to touch her again – she’d bite their bloody ankles if she had to. She wasn’t going to be anybody’s prisoner, not again.

   Thinking of her Godfathers brought her renewed energy as the five students tore down the secret passageway. No one was talking, so she had plenty of space for her own thoughts.

   This must have been one of the hidden tunnels the Marauders used during their time at Hogwarts. Sirius liked to boast they knew every inch of the castle, and her dad had showed her their special map once before, and told her how they used to prowl around at night in their animal forms. Sarah had decided long ago she wanted to become an Animagus like her dad, and in her youth she’d dreamed of transforming into a kitten, a hedgehog, or a beautiful bird to go explore the world around her unnoticed. But that had been before.

   Now she saw herself as a fierce beast with claws and sharp teeth. Maybe she could be a wolf, a big white one with blood red eyes. No one would take her prisoner then.

   Wolf Sarah sped up her pace, ignoring the pain in her chest and the wobbliness of her legs. She caught up to Harry and Draco, imagining her paws beating on the floor, her fur bristling, her fangs gleaming in the flickering firelight. “Where in Hogsmeade does this lead?” she called down to Harry at the front.

   It took Harry a moment to answer, and she almost wondered if he’d even heard her. “Honeydukes,” he said after a while. “About five minutes away.”

   Draco craned his neck to grab a look at Sarah. “You okay kiddo?” he asked.

   “Fine,” she barked. And I’m not a kid, she wanted to add. I’m a wolf. But Draco was only looking out for her, so she left it unsaid.

   She had never been to Hogsmeade’s famous sweet shop, and even though there were far more pressing matters at hand, she was still excited to see it. True to his word, after about five minutes Harry slowed down as they came to a big trapdoor set above their heads. They had to wait a while before Hermione and Ron caught up; Ron looked okay but Hermione was dripping with sweat and looked as if she was about to throw up. “Can’t...run...like you!” she scolded as she bent double, gagging as she gulped down lungfuls of air.

   Harry’s face was drawn taut with resolution. “You still have a chance to go back,” he said as he pulled his wand free from his jeans. “I can do this by myself.”

   Sarah wasn’t sure who looked more offended as the other three all retorted at once.

   “Don’t be an idiot,” cried Draco.

   “Not a chance,” said Hermione between gasps.

   “When have we ever let you go alone?” demanded Ron, who then paused for thought. “Y’know, excluding massive cave-ins or being knocked out by a giant chess piece?”

   Harry nodded at them. “Okay, but stay close alright?” His eyes flicked warily to Sarah, who tried to make herself look as tall as she possibly could. If Harry was still reluctant to let her come, he decided not to share it. Instead, he reached up, and gave the trap door a little prod with his wand.

   It slammed upwards into the room above as if he’d thrown his whole bodyweight up into it. The hinges were silent but the wood gave an almighty crash as it connected with the stone floor. All five of them jumped back and cringed. “Oops,” said Harry meekly.

   On Harry’s request, Draco boosted him up first to check all was clear. Luckily no one was about and it seemed their noise had gone unnoticed. They hoisted Sarah up next as she was the smallest, and she had a feeling Harry didn’t want her out of his sight as much as she didn’t want him out of hers. Hermione came next, followed by Ron and finally Draco jumped and hauled himself up, which earned a tutting noise from Ron. He was a funny sort of boy, Sarah decided. He was all limbs and freckles, and seemed very protective over Harry and Hermione. She’d heard her parents mention the Weasley family a few times, but all she really knew was there had been a lot of them and they all had red hair. How funny one of them would be Harry’s best friend in this world.

   As Hermione gently closed the trap door again with a spell, Harry told the rest of them to crouch down by the many barrels, boxes and bags of every kind of sweet and chocolate Sarah could possible think off. Pepper Imps, Orange and Chilli chocolate and Droobles Best Blowing Gum all towered over them as Sarah tucked herself by a half empty box of Liquorice Wands. She gazed at Sugar-Spun Quills, Trophy Toffees and even the chocolate covered jelly babies her mum always had in the cupboard, all of which made her mouth water.

   Harry and the others were whispering urgently about what to do when she read the label of the box she was by properly. She blinked in the dim light coming from the torch on the wall. They were _red_ Liquorice Wands, she realised. She’d never seen such a thing; her mum and Draco loved the regular kind, but that made Sarah gag. Red liquorice though...

   Before she could change her mind, her hand darted into the box and grabbed one, sliding it from its wrapped and stuffing a bite into her mouth.

   As soon as it touched her tongue, it gave an almighty crack, like a whip, and the sugar began fizzing and popping between her teeth. The other four spun round, wands barred as she shoved the rest guiltily into her mouth. It felt as if a sparkler was going off behind her lips. “What are you doing?” hissed Draco. Sarah tried to push the exploding candy to one side of her jaw.

   “Nothing,” she muttered with a crackle.

   “Well do it more quietly,” replied Draco with a raised eyebrow.

   Sarah chewed her noisy liquorice as quickly as she could as Harry lead them up the steps to the proper shop. The raspberry flavouring buzzed along her tongue and left her feeling giddy. But once they reached the top of the stairs, the old dread was creeping back in. They had no way of knowing what was on the other side of the door, but it was probably not going to be good. I’m a wolf, Sarah told herself, I’m a big scary wolf and they can’t hurt me.

   She didn’t really feel like a wolf though – she felt more like a little girl licking raspberry off her lips.

   Harry eased the door open and edged out into the shop. The rest of them crept in after him, wands raised and ready for attack. But none came. Sarah was so tense she barely took in the looming shelves of brightly coloured sweets and boxes of chocolates, the whirring life-like displays and the friendly voice on the tannoy letting them know that you got a free goat with every multipack of Fizzing Whizbees purchased. The shop was nothing but shelves tightly stood together, and as they snuck towards the front door Sarah was convinced Death Eaters were lurking behind at least half a dozen turns.

   When they finally reached the till and the large window streaming blinding afternoon sunshine through it, Sarah finally let go of the breath she’d been holding since the cellar. The window was frosted so it was hard to see out of it more than a blur, but from what they could tell there was no one inside the shop...but plenty of movement out on the street.

   “What’s going on here?” murmured Hermione, looking this way and that.

   Harry trod silently over to the door and took hold of the handle. “Stay here,” he said to them all. “Don’t make a sound.”

   Sarah felt her heart leap into her throat as Harry pressed the knob downwards and peered outside. She could only see a bit of the side of his face, but it was enough to tell he was frowning. Without a word he flung the door backwards and wondered out into the street.

   Ron yelped, but Hermione and Draco were hot on his heels into the sunshine, and Sarah found her feet following them.

   The five students were met with a throng of confused townsfolk, all standing around aimlessly, staring at the sky, talking perplexed to one another. There wasn’t a Death Eater in sight.

   “I don’t get it?” said Sarah, feeling a little life flow back into her extremities. She’d been holding her breath again without noticing. A woman in her early thirties jumped at hearing her voice behind her, and spun round to see who’d emerged from Honeydukes. She had a mass of curly auburn hair and plenty of make-up on her face, and was clothed in voluminous skirts that did little to hide her curvy figure.

   “Bless my soul!” she cried, and pulled absent-mindedly as the spangly scarf around her neck. “Harry my love, you did give me a shock. What you kids doing here?”

   “Hi,” said Ron, a goofy look creeping over his face. “You alright?”

   Harry looked about confused. “We thought...” he said hesitantly. “It seemed like the village had been attacked?”

   “Well it was,” said the auburn haired woman. “It was Harry love, old Bert in his tobacco store saw it first, set off the alarm, Death Eaters in their nasty black cloaks, made a right mess they did.”

   Concern replaced Ron’s goofiness. “Are you okay?” he asked eagerly.

   The woman gave him a warm smile. “Fine, my love,” she said. “They didn’t seem to really do any harm? Not to the people anyway.” She scowled.

   “But where are they now Madame Rosmarta?” said Hermione, casting her eyes uneasily along the rooftops, wand still poised to fire. The woman, Rosmarta, chewed her lip and pulled at her scarf again.

   “Dunno love,” she said timidly. “Them Ministry folks from your school showed up like they’re supposed to and those black cloaks vanished, just like that.” She snapped her fingers, then gazed woefully over the people and the shops nearest them. Sarah could see several shop windows were smashed in, refusing to be mended with magic, and smoke was rising where a number of fires had been not long ago.

   “These are peoples livelihoods,” muttered Rosmarta in her West Country accent. “They ain’t got no right.”

   Draco had gone very still. Sarah might not have noticed it if she hadn’t been standing right by him, but it was as if he’d turned to stone. “What,” he managed to croak through a stiff jaw, earning the others’ attention. “Vanished?”

   Rosmarta was nodding. “Yup, yup,” she said. “Your Ministry lot came along, started arrestin’ folk, but then like I said, all the black coats up an’ popped into thin air. The Ministry aurors apparated back to the castle, leavin’ our lot to do some questioning, only then _they_ got called away too.” The older woman shivered and pulled at her scarf once more. “Seems wrong really, there should be at least someone down her with us, what if they come back?”

   Sarah had thought Draco looked pale before, when they were at the statue of the one-eyed-witch. Right now he looked damn near invisible. “I thought you couldn’t apparate in the school grounds?” she said, confused.

   “They’re stationed just outside the grounds,” supplied Hermione

   “They’re not coming back,” said Draco hoarsely, eyes hardly focused as he swung back to take in the castle above them. “There was never an attack on the village.”

   Rosmarta appeared put out by that. “Course there was, I saw it with my own two eyes.”

   “So did everyone else,” said Draco. He was visibly shaking now. “So they ran to help. All of them. Away from the school.”

   Harry suddenly looked as if he’d been punched in the gut by a troll. “It wasn’t an attack,” he agreed, his appalled face turning towards his friends. “It was a diversion. They were after the school all along.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think! Was that what you were expecting? I'd love to know what you liked most about this chapter - Harry and Draco's reunion is one of my favourite moments in the whole trilogy, so I hope that brought a smile to your face :-D


	4. Away From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s go find some bad guys.” Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is named after one of my favourite ever songs, Away From My by Evanescance. To hear it and the rest of the soundtrack, make sure you head over to my Tumblr @thehpdreamtrilogy where you'll find all the music, along with all artwork, trivia, casting and general Harry Potter love. 
> 
> From this chapter onwards we start learning a little bit more about Draco, so I hope you enjoy...

Chapter Three -

   Away From Me

 

I hold my breath

As this life starts to take its toll

I hide behind a smile

As this perfect plan unfolds

But, oh, God

I feel I've been lied to

Lost all faith

In the things I have achieved

And I-

 

I've woken now

To find myself in the shadows

Of the lie I've created

I'm longing to be lost in you

Away from this place I'm in

Won't you take me away from me

 

Evanescence

 

   Draco Malfoy tried not to check the time. In the last hour or so he couldn’t seem to stop himself glancing every few seconds at his watch, but it appeared as if time itself was standing still. As was usual of a Sunday, lunch was dragging on forever. People talking lazily, putting off homework, putting off the impending doom of the Monday morning start for just a couple more hours.

   His father’s voice rang in his ears. ‘It is _imperative_ that you maintain appearances Draco,’ he had told him, the whispered words ringing from the letter in which he’d recorded them. ‘There are eyes everywhere, no one must know. The reputation of the Malfoy name is at stake. _You_ _must not fail.’_

   But Draco had no intention of failing. They’d given him the mark hadn’t they? He would prove to him he was on their side, that he could do this, and then everything would be okay.

   Everything would be okay. The black tattoo on his forearm still stung when he touched it, but the pain was fading every day. He’d done everything he could to hide it from his fellow classmates, no one would know a thing. Everything would go to plan.

   His mother had been deeply upset at the ugly skull and snake now brandished on the inside of Draco’s wrist. His father hadn’t told her what was happening until afterwards, when Draco had heard them screaming and roaring at each other all throughout the Manor. He’d not been able to make out most of the words, hidden up in his room, except his mother had kept screaming _‘Too young! He’s too young!’_

   Draco hadn’t seen his mother since then, and that had been the Easter Holidays weeks ago. His father had assured him she had been sent somewhere for her own protection, because what they were planning was too important to risk anything, but that didn’t explain to Draco why he couldn’t talk to her, or even write her a letter.

   ‘Your mother believes in you,’ the letter’s voice had said. ‘You’ll be able to see her when this is all over.’ He’d replayed that part over and over, until the letter had buckled under its own magic and burst into flames. What would happen if he didn’t do it, if he didn’t succeed? Draco couldn’t help but wonder. Would he still get to see his mother?

   Was she really okay?

   He banished the thought away and checked his watch again without thinking. It was almost time. He wanted to get there early, so there was no mistakes.

   “Are you late for something?” asked Blaise Zabini coolly. Draco felt himself jump back to reality and look guiltily at his best friend. She always sat with such poise it reminded him of a cat, and right now her large hazel eyes were fixed accusingly on him. Colour reached up his neck. He should have known better than to try and hide this from Blaise, she was so damn observant about everything, he should have just avoided her.

   Please, he thought to himself, please just drop it.

   “Well?”

   He should have known she never would. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. Blaise remained unmoved.

   “Are you going to meet Pansy for a little rendezvous?” she asked. Only because Draco knew her so well did her realise she was teasing. Her tone was completely calm, but those hazel eyes said otherwise.

On a different day he would have enjoyed a bit of goading. Pansy was a nightmare and the pair normally laughed themselves silly behind her back.

   But not today.

   “I...I have to go somewhere,” said Draco lamely. “It’s important.”

   Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “This is something to do with your father, isn’t it?” Draco clenched his jaw together to tried not to give anything away, but he couldn’t help it as the words came tumbling from his mouth.

   “I can’t...I can’t explain,” he said, looking at his watch again. It was time, he had to go. He took hold of Blaise’s hands, oblivious to the chatter and laughter happening around them. “You have to promise me something,” he said. “When I leave the hall, you have to leave too. I want you to go to the common room, or better yet your dorm. Don’t come out, no matter what happens, until I come find you.”

   Blaise’s face showed no flicker of emotion, she just watched him, drinking in his barely concealed panic and desperation. She looked so much older than she was – little more than a child. They were both just children.

   “Okay,” she told him eventually, and gave his hands a squeeze. “But you will come find me.”

   Draco stood up and walked away from her without a moment’s pause. I’ll see her in a while, he told himself sternly. And my mother, I shall see her soon. I just have to do this one thing.

   Most students paid him no mind as he made his way along the Slytherin table and over to the large double doors that lead to the rest of the school. That was until he passed by Potter and his gang. He was sat on the end of the Ravenclaw table itself with Parvati Patil standing beside him. Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom were sat on chairs by Terry Boot, who as usual had a Muggle guitar planted in his lap and was probably the reason the Gryffindors had absconded from their own house. He looked up half interested as Draco walked past, then continued fiddling with the strings, letting an attempt at a melody float through the hall. Seamus frowned at him, then leant over and said something to Terry causing both the boys to nod. Draco wondered if it was about him.

   He didn’t have to wonder when it came to Potter and Parvati. “You lost Snake Spawn?” cackled Parvati as Draco made his way away from them. He heard several people join in laughing around her, including Potter.

   “Nah,” he cried, “he’s off to snog his girlfriend, Moaning Myrtle!” By the time Draco left the hall, Potter was singing. _“Myrtle and Malfoy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”_

   Draco curled his fists and let the doors swing shut behind him, deadening the noise. How _dare_ they talk to him like that, his family was _pureblood._ Potter’s mother was a filthy Mudblood, he knew that for a fact, and he didn’t even care which dirty country Patil came from. Longbottom was one step away from a Squib and didn’t deserve to be pureblood. Boot and Finnigan were both Half-Bloods, which was almost as bad as being Mudblood. What the Hell right did they think they had to insult him like they did? He’d show them, once and for all.

   He made himself unclench his fingers and breathe deeply as he walked down the stairs, he needed to be calm and focused otherwise it wouldn’t work. His mind wondered to Blaise though. He really hoped she would listen to him and go to the common room. He had no idea what was going to happen, but he didn’t want her anywhere near it. She had enough problems dealing with her mother when it came to the Dark Lord, she didn’t need to contend with his father too.

   Draco had lain awake for many hours wondering what it was he was going to be doing for his father. All he knew was they needed a resident of Hogwarts with the Dark Mark, and it had been an honour to be chosen. An honour, he told himself again, this is important for my family. Whatever it is.

   The air grew colder and moister the further down he descended. The docks were always deserted during term-time; as far as he knew they were only ever used to bring the first years to the castle at the beginning of the year.

   He was proved wrong however almost immediately. He froze at the patter of bare feet on rock from below – he was halfway down the staircase, what could he do? In a flash he was pelting back up the stairs that lead to the dungeons, trying his best not to make a sound, and found a shadow to hide in just as two house elves came up the steps, hoisting a large wicker basket of fruit between them. They chattered in their high pitched voices, their ugly faces pulled into what passed for smiles. Idiots, thought Draco spitefully, pointless creatures. Anyone content to spend their life in servitude was worthless as far as he was concerned. They had a house elf at home and Draco enjoyed booting it down the stairs every now and again.

   Once the elves were gone, Draco crept back towards the spiral staircase, then began carefully journeying down again. His ears strained to hear if there were anymore of the vermin, but there was nothing. He reached the dock with his wand out and pointed, only to find it empty.

   It was dark and breezy here. He was on a stone wharf, maybe a dozen or so feet wide, with a rippling rectangle to his left for the boats to dock. The entrance in from the Great Lake was covered with a curtain of ivy and only a few of torch brackets lined the walls, not all of which were even lit. The water was lapping against the stone and swaying the foliage gently. He had no way to tell if the elves had just met a boat that had since departed, or if one would be coming back anytime soon. He shook himself and headed for the cave’s entrance. If there was any trouble his father could deal with it.

   He pulled the trailing ivy back and looked out into what little there was of the Spring sunshine. The day was cloudy, the waters looked slate grey and rain was attempting to fall in a misty sort of fashion. Draco couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but that was the point. “ _Linter Revelio,”_ he said out to the lake.

   A patch of air above the reeds to his right began to shimmer, and suddenly a small row boat came into view, containing his father Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr, and his aunt Bellatrix Lestrange. The sight of Bellatrix, with her mad mop of black curls and even madder black eyes made Draco’s stomach drop. He had not realised she would be coming; not that it would have altered the plan in anyway, he just liked to be prepared when he saw her. She was fond of mockery as a sport, and Draco was one of her favourite targets.

   Draco silently held the foliage aside as the small boat powered its own way through to the dock. The three adults remained perfectly still, as if frozen, and around their necks they wore matching glowing pouches on brown leather thongs; charms to help them enter Draco guessed. He dropped the curtain once they were through and darted to the boat’s side when it gently came to a halt by the stone wharf. _“Animatium,”_ he declared, pointing his wand at his father first and then the other two. They blinked and roused, shaking the spell from their limbs as they clambered ashore. Draco knew his father had taken several different potions to enable him to arrive into the castle unannounced, and his status as a school governor would apparently mask his presence even further. Bellatrix and Crouch may have taken the potions, Draco thought looking warily at them, but they certainly weren’t governors. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.

   His aunt sighed theatrically and stretched her arms out. “Baby Malfoy,” she cooed in her sing-song voice, pinching his cheek with fingers adorned with long black nails. “Aren’t you a clever little boy.” Draco swatted her hand angrily away but said nothing. Bellatrix just laughed again and danced off.

   “Thank you, Draco,” said the smooth voice of Barty Crouch. He was tall and lean with soft brown hair and calculating eyes. Draco wasn’t as surprised to see him here, he professed himself to be The Dark Lord’s most loyal servant and had murdered his entire family to prove it. Bellatrix was just his lapdog as far as Draco could tell, and it made him cringe.

   Crouch fished out a small caldron from the boat and more phials and bottles from his robe than it had any right to hold, whilst Bellatrix prowled around the dock humming shrilly. All the while, Lucius Malfoy regarded his son.

   Draco tried to stand up straight and not tremble. Had he done something wrong already? he panicked. He knew better to speak before being spoken to however, so kept his mouth shut. “Your next task,” said Lucius eventually, “will be the most vital. I do hope you are feeling up to it.”

   “Yes sir,” said Draco automatically, hoping his father would elaborate. He remained silent though, and switched his attention to Crouch.

   “How long?” he drawled.  

   Crouch was unfazed by the imposing presence of Lucius Malfoy, and answered him with a shrug. “Couple of minutes?” he said. Bellatrix gave a few claps and let out a little giggle of delight.

   “He comes,” she whispered to herself. “He comes, he comes.”

   Something deadly cold slid down through Draco’s insides. He? Surely she didn’t mean...well he couldn’t possibly come here could he? And even if he did, to what purpose?

   He could feel his hands start to sweat as he watched Barty work the magic over the pot, adding a dash of this or that and muttering words Draco didn’t recognise. A light zephyr teased the vines at the cave mouth and made the water in the dock ripple. The boat banged against the stone quay until Lucius banished it outside with a flick of his wand. “By the water please.” Draco had to assume it was him being spoken to, so he edged over and looked at his father in anticipation. Lucius pulled out a knife in an elaborately stitched leather sheath and handed it hilt first to his son.

   “To begin the ritual you will have to perform the sacrifice.” There seemed to be a glint of amusement in his eyes, which scared Draco even more as he stared opened mouthed between the weapon and his father.

   “S-sacrifice?” he spluttered. Was he asking him to...Draco could even think the words, but his brain was conjuring up images of him slitting his own throat.

   “Yes,” said Lucius pragmatically. “The oldest kind.” Draco couldn’t find any words, he just kept his eyes unblinking on the knife, insides pulled taught waiting for his father to explain, to tell him he wasn’t expected to kill himself.

   Crouch sighed. “Why must it always be riddles with you?” he chided at Lucius in his soft Scottish accent, forcing Draco to look up, a warm sensation of hope pricking at the edges of his numb mind. “Blood, he means blood.”

   Draco felt all the air leave his lungs. So he was right. Crouch had stood up and now marched over to where Draco was. He took hold of the wrist holding the knife, firmly but not so much it hurt, plucked the sheath off, and guided his hand so pressed the sharp edge of the blade against his other palm. It was cold.

   “Just one quick cut, let me have a few droplets in my bucket, then shake a good handful into the water and say the words. You remember them right?” Draco snapped his mouth shut and nodded. “Good,” said Barty, clapping him on the shoulder. “Then I’ll heal your hand – unless you want a scar?” He raised an eyebrow. “Scars build character, boys like that don’t they?”

   Before Draco could even think about an answer his father spoke. “Scars are ugly imperfections, you will remove all marks.” Barty shrugged.

   “Makes no difference to me.”

   Draco tried to stop his hand from shaking as he pressed the blade against his palm. One, two...one, two...three. But he didn’t cut. He heard Bellatrix sigh. “You have to do it by yourself, we can’t help you. Hurry up.”

   He took a deep breath. One, two...one, two, _THREE._ It stung ferociously, but Draco bit his tongue and didn’t make a sound. Only babies cried when they were hurt, and he was a servant of The Dark Lord. Obediently, he turned and held his clenched fist out for Barty, who collected half a dozen drops of blood in his caldron, which started to fizz and foam. He then walked over to the water and squeezed as hard as he could bear. “The path is clear,” he said in the strongest voice he could muster. “The door is unlocked, step into my abode, what is mine is yours.” He almost forgot the last words, the most important ones, but after a beat or two they came back to him. _“Ostiumus occulta.”_

   Crouch was spell casting again, and the water around the blood began swirling. He came and stood behind Draco, still murmuring, the pot in one hand and his wand in the other. The water in the dock was a fully fledged whirlpool now, and Barty reached over Draco and tipped his potion into the centre.

   A column of green light shot up instantly, connecting the water with the rough stone ceiling of the cave. Draco jumped back into Crouch, but the older man suddenly had a free hand that he gripped onto Draco’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he whispered into his ear. “Watch.”

Bellatrix barely seemed to be able to contain herself. “Rise!” she hissed. _“Rise!”_ The column was blurring, and Draco could feel his heart rate quicken as a form started taking shape. It was Him.

   The chalk white, snake like head was clearest first, followed by flowing black robes and skeletal hands. Crouch flung the caldron to the ground with a clatter and yanked Draco down to the floor to bow beside him. From the corner of his eye he could see his father kneeling, and Bellatrix was practically wailing “My lord, my lord!”

   “Do I have your consent to enter?” came his echoey, serpentine voice. Draco felt as stiff as a wooden plank, but after a moment or two he forced his neck to crane upwards. The Dark Lord was staring right at him.

   “Y-yes,” stammered Draco, uncertain whether or not he should move, but Barty still had a firm grip on his sleeve so he decided to remain where he was. “Yes, I as...as an occupant of this place hereby g-give you my consent.”

   The Dark Lord stretched his lips in what might have been a smile, and slowly took a step from the luminescent column towards the stone floor of the dock. As his solid form reached dry land, Bellatrix leapt up from where she had been sprawled on the ground to throw herself at her master’s feet instead.

   “My lord!” she cried. “You are here, we have done it!”

   Voldemort looked down at her, almost amused. “I am not quite sure what part you played in this my dear, but it is a pleasure to see you as always.” He gave a small flick of his foot and she scuttled away. Lucius was already standing, and Barty pulled at Draco’s robe, indicating they should do the same.

   The Dark Lord’s red eyes swung around once again to find Draco. “You have done well Master Malfoy,” he said softly, so much so Draco had to strain to hear him over the blood pumping in his ears.

   “Thank – thank you,” he said, cursing himself. Why couldn’t he talk without fumbling over every word! “It was an honour,” he added, concentrating on every syllable.

   “Your family will be proud,” he replied, then without another word he turned in a sweep of robes and glided up the staircase. With a flick of his wand Barty gathered up his kit and made to follow, only stopping at the last minute to gab Draco’s injured hand.

   _“Episky,”_ he said, then winked at Draco as the cut vanished. “You did well kid.”

   Bellatrix was already right behind The Dark Lord, and Barty joined her, hiding his caldron up his sleeve. Lucius turned to join in their ascent.

   “Remain here,” he instructed his son without so much of a glance. Draco stared at him in disbelief.

   “What do you mean?” he found himself calling up after him. “What’s happening, where are you going?” Lucius spun around and glared at his son.

   “Be quiet,” he hissed, eyes darting to where the others had disappeared from sight. But Draco felt shaky and irrational from the fear-fuelled adrenalin in his system.

   “What’s going on?”

   Lucius stormed back down towards him, and Draco couldn’t help but flinch away as he approached. “You have done your family proud today, Draco,” he said through gritted teeth. “You will continue to do as you are bid.”

   Draco bit his tongue, trying to keep the words inside, but reckless desperation took a hold of him.

   “I want to see mother, you said I could.”

   His father frowned at him. “Your mother is being kept somewhere safe, we have discussed this.”

   Draco’s eyes narrowed, and there was no keeping the words down now. “I don’t believe you,” he breathed.

   The back of Lucius’ hand hit his face faster than Draco could comprehend. He staggered backwards as blood welled from a split lip, and Lucius scowled. “How _dare_ you talk to me in such a manor,” he snarled. “You will remain here until I fetch you and bring you back home.”

   He spun on his heels and raced after his master. Draco cradled the right side of his face as his jaw began to throb and blinked back tears of shock more than pain. His heart pounded and it seemed like a whistle was blowing in his ears. Mum, he thought, unable to process anything else, you promised I would see mum.

   The air in the cave had dropped several degrees, and the rowing boat had found its way back inside the cave to tap against the wall. Anger started rising in Draco then. Why _should_ he stay behind? If it wasn’t for him, they would never have even been able to get into the damn school, what right had they to tell him to hide in the shadows?

   He ran up the spiraled stairs again, taking them two at a time, and heaving the door open at the top. He froze. There, littered on the ground, were the two house elves he’d only just seen with the basket of fruit. Their dead eyes stared unblinking up at the dungeon ceiling, the now empty basket lay on its side a few feet away. He tried to steady his breathing as he reasoned they were only elves, and how did he expect his father or The Dark Lord to have dealt with them?

   He edged around the corpses and took off at a run, putting the creatures from his mind. They didn’t matter, they were nothing. He managed to reach the main body of the castle without catching up to his father and the others, which irked him slightly. He had no idea where they might have gone now, so he just started walking down the corridor, thinking about how quiet the school seemed. Were there more Death Eaters waiting to be let in outside the gates? he wondered. Where would The Dark Lord go, what did he want here? Was he going to attack Dumbledore?

   A faint noise made him spin around, his wand in his hand and his heart in his mouth. A scream? Was that a scream? He was at the base of a square tower that held a series of winding staircases that liked to change their destination depending on what day of the week it was, and looking up he had no idea where the noise, whatever it had been, had come from.

   But then it came again, and again. Draco turned about himself, looking upwards, but there were sounds everywhere now, all faint from where he stood. He had a feeling they were coming closer.

   He had his wand out but he didn’t know where to point it. What was happening, was that students making those noises? Try as he might couldn’t deny now they were screams and shouts. Maybe his father had let more Death Eaters in like he’d thought, were they attacking the children? Why? Not knowing anything was making him more and more scared. Blaise, he thought to himself, please say you hid like I said.

   The doors a floor above burst open, and a flurry of students of all ages came tumbling out, racing in all directions. They were screaming, crying, yelling to one another, and Draco jumped backwards in surprise. One bolted down the stairs and flew past him, a girl with blond ringlets and freckles. “What are you doing!” she shrieked at him as she pelted in the direction of the Slytherin common room. _“Run!”_

   But Draco’s eyes were drawn to where they’d just emerged from. What was that rumbling? The sounds of spells being cast were echoing from atop all the stairways, vibrating down corridors. Who was fighting, what was happening? The stairway above him was still releasing students in fits and starts, a gaggle one moment then a frightened loner the next. There definitely seemed to be a rumbling noise, and something else that Draco couldn’t place but for all intents and purposes had rooted his feet to the floor.  

   The Longbottom boy, the Squib one that hung around with Potter slammed into the railings at the top of staircase. “Malfoy!” he yelled upon spying him. “Run! It’s right behind me, it’s-”

   But at that moment Neville Longbottom turned and looked behind him, and there was a blinding flash of light, so bright Draco wasn’t even sure of its colour as he flung his arm oven his eyes. There was a sickening crunching sound, and, terrified of what he would find, Draco forced his arm away to look.

   Longbottom lay in a crumpled heap by his feet, his eyes wide open in terror. He was most definitely dead. Draco made a gagging noise and tripped backwards, unable to tear his own eyes off Neville’s. The Killing Curse? Had the light been green? As he glanced back up to the doors leading to the corridor, an immense shadow fell against the wall, and before he had time to think Draco bolted down the corridor that would take him to the Slytherin common room.

   There was a _thud_ behind him that shook the floor and made him stumble. It was behind him, he knew it. Could it fit down this corridor? How big was the other hallway? Knowing he had too far to run, instead he yanked at the edge of a huge coat of arms that concealed a secret tunnel and jumped inside, slamming it shut behind him. The way the swords rested on the shield though meant the arms weren’t flush against the wall, and he could still hear the screams and see the floor of the corridor. He backed along the crawl way, which was barely big enough to fit a person unless they were on hands and knees, desperate not to draw its attention.

   He wasn’t looking where he was going, so had to stifle his own scream when he backed into a warm body. He snapped his head around as hands groped at him in the gloom. It was the older girl with the blond ringlets; she’d obviously had the same idea as him. She shoved a finger in front of her lips but Draco didn’t need telling twice. Don’t make a sound.

   They could hear the rustling sound coming closer. Obviously the corridor was big enough to take it after all, and Draco prayed to whoever might be listening that it didn’t knock the coat of arms off the wall. The girl clung onto his hand so hard he feared his fingers might break. He didn’t know her name, or even what year she was in, but he’d seen her in the common room and on the Slytherin dining table. “Whatever happens,” he managed to whisper. “Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes closed and you’ll be okay.”

   “What?” the girl whispered back as the coat of arms rattled at the end of their tunnel.

   “It can’t get down here,” he said as bile rose in his throat. Keep it together, he wiled himself. The small amount of light coming from the gap at the tunnel’s entrance suddenly disappeared as the beast slithered past them. “But if it looks at you it can kill you, so if the shield falls down or something, just keep your eyes closed.”

   He was shaking all over, but as soon as the light came back to the crack under the shield, he let go of the girl and edged towards the hallway. “Where are you going!” she squeaked.

   He turned awkwardly, feeling the sweat running down his neck. “I have to go, just stay here, you’ll be fine.”

   The girl’s face shined with tears, staring at him in disbelief, but he couldn’t stay. He scrambled back around and crept up to the back of the coat of arms. He couldn’t hear anything, no screams, no vibrations from the creature. He knew it was the Basilisk, beyond a doubt. His father had told him many a time about The Dark Lord’s prized pet, how he’d killed a girl while they were at school together. He just could not believe that they’d set it on the school; it didn’t know what it was doing, it would attack Mudbloods and Purebloods alike.

   He saw Neville Longbottom crumpled at his feet again. He had been pure of blood, no matter what his magical talent was.

   He didn’t want to leave the tunnel, but there wasn’t a single sound to be heard and he knew he might not get another chance. Sucking in air he threw the coat of arms open, slammed it shut again as he jumped out and sprinted for the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons. “Magic is might!” he hissed to the bare patch of wall, and to his immense relief the entranceway appeared. He hurtled inside, and watched on tender-hooks as it slowly disappeared again.

   The common room was in hysterics, with students running around, whimpering and bellowing all over the place. Draco couldn’t seem to steady his breathing as he searched all their faces for Blaise. She wasn’t there, he knew she wasn’t there. He pushed through the hoard towards the passageway that lead to the girl’s dormitories, but when he reached it he rebounded off an invisible barrier that made him screech out in frustration. Of course boys couldn’t go into the girls rooms, he knew that.

   He felt like crying, he needed to find Blaise, but she wasn’t here and he couldn’t check her room. She was probably there, he told himself as people yelled and bawled and shoved. He had to get away.

He elbowed his way through again, stumbling into the corridor that lead to where all the boys slept. He raced down to his private room, the one father had paid for, and unlocked the door. There was no one inside, and silence fell as the door swung shut again. All he could hear was his fervoured breathing as he took a step forward, then another, before his legs gave way and he fell through the curtains concealing his four poster bed. He pulled his legs inside the velvet drapes and let his whole body shake as it rested on the mattress.

   A hand reached up from underneath the bed and grabbed his wrist.

   Draco let out a startled cry and tried to pull away, but the hand was followed by the pale and wide eyed face of Blaise Zabini. A noise of anguished relief escaped from Draco’s throat as he threw his arms around her and hauled her up onto the bed beside him. She was a still as a stone, and when Draco released her from his embrace she was still staring wide eyed at him. Her hands groped at his clothes, but her eyes never moved, never blinked.

   Draco began trembling. “What have I done?” he said, hands gripping at her slim, fragile shoulders as the tears finally began to fall. “What have I done, Blaise, _what have I DONE?”_

 

***

 

   Try as he might, Harry couldn’t make his legs move fast enough. Draco had torn back into Honeydukes like something demented, bolting back into the cellar and down the trap door, up along the shadowy tunnel that led back into the school. Harry was trying to keep up, but man that boy could run.

   “Draco!” he called out. “Slow down, you don’t know what’s up there!” But Draco didn’t slow down, nor did he reply. Harry looked over his shoulder to make sure the other three were keeping up behind. They didn’t look happy, but he could see them at least.

   How could he have been so stupid, _how?_ A diversion was the oldest trick in the book, what had he been thinking? He only hoped the officials from the Ministry had had more wits about them, and that’s why they all disappeared from Hogsmeade in such a hurry.

   Surely no one could get into the school though, he consoled himself, it was impenetrable. But the panic that had seized Draco, the desperation, made him very worried indeed. Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything happen though, or any of the other teachers, he knew it. Didn’t he?

   The journey back must have taken less time than it had taken the five students to get to Hogsmeade, but it seemed to take twice as long. Harry kept imagining a thousand different ways that Death Eaters could have penetrated Hogwarts’ defences, but each seemed as unlikely as the last. It’s just a false alarm, he repeated to himself, everything’s going to be fine.

   He burst back into the corridor from behind the statue of the one-eyed-witch with his wand raised and eyes dizzy with adrenaline. Draco was pacing back and forth, head snapping in every direction. “I can’t hear anything,” he said. “Where are they?”

   Harry caught his breath, and looked back down the tunnel to make sure Sarah, Hermione and Ron were on their way. “Maybe there’s no attack?” he suggested rubbing his right knee which was twinging. Small beads of sweat were dotting on Draco’s forehead, making some of his hair stick up, but other than that he showed no sign that he’d been running for the best part of forty minutes. His face was wan though, his eyes fervoured and his feet and hands twitchy.

   “It’s happening again,” he breathed, rocking back and forth. “It’s happening again.”

   Sarah was the first to tumble back into the corridor, followed by Ron and then Hermione, who propped herself against the wall as soon as she was out and tried not to gag. “What’s going on!” demanded Sarah, sucking in lungfuls of air with her hands on her hips. “Is someone attacking the school, they can’t be!”

   “YOU!” shouted Ron, taking a run at Draco and slamming him into the wall.

   “No!” yelled Harry, leaping instantly to pull them apart. Draco seemed too shell-shocked to do anything except hold his arms up in defense, but Ron was smashing him against the wall repeatedly. “Ron!” He managed to yank the two boys away from each other, and tried to get his best friend to look at him. “We don’t even know what’s happening!”

   Ron stabbed a finger at Draco, who had slumped up against the wall and was trembling from head to toe. “It was him!” yelled Ron. “He shows up, leads us away and the bloody Death Eaters get in!”

   “Ron _I_ lead you down to the town!” Harry shouted back, giving the boy a shake to help him focus.

   “And,” said Sarah, squaring up to him as much as she could, being a foot shorter. “We just showed up from an alternate universe, how did we have time to talk to any Death Eaters?”

   Ron had stopped struggling against Harry now, but he didn’t trust him enough to let him go just yet, he knew how hot-headed his friend could be. Ron narrowed his eyes. “He _says_ he just came from another reality, how do we really know?”

   Sarah threw up her hands in frustration. “Then how do you explain me, huh?”

   “You’re not an evil Slytherin,” replied Ron.

   “Neither is he!” shot back Sarah.

   “All of you, _shut up!”_ hissed Hermione. Harry looked over to see she had wrestled herself off the wall, and although still green she no longer looked like she was threatening to pass out. _“If_ there is anybody untoward in the castle, do you want to bring them down on our heads?”

   All the anger seemed to evaporate from Ron at that, to be replaced by a healthy dose of sheepishness. “Erm, no,” he said. “Sorry Hermione.”

   “It’s Draco you should apologise to,” she snapped, shoving back the tangles of hair that had become plastered to her face from the run. Her cheeks were bright red and she was struggling to control her breathing, but she still managed to be scary when telling them off. “Harry’s right, there’s no way he could have been a part of this, if ‘this’ is even anything at all.” She took one last deep breath and managed to calm herself a bit. “I mean look at the poor boy, he’s practically traumatised.”

   Harry felt like he could let go of Ron now without him flying off the handle, so he did and turned to face Draco. He was still leaning against the wall, arms wrapped around his chest, eyes staring blankly at the floor. “What have I done?” he whispered. “What have I done, Blaise, what have I done?”

   Harry walked cautiously over to him. “Blaise isn’t here,” he said gently, reaching out to touch the blond boy’s shoulder. “And you haven’t done anything.”

   “Yes I did,” shuddered Draco, still staring at the floor. “I let them in, I said the words, I didn’t know, I – I...”

   “See!” said Ron loudly. “See I told you!” But Sarah silenced him with a glare.

   “He’s talking about _before_ you idiot,” she hissed. “Why do you think he’s freaking out?”

   “Draco,” said Harry again, taking the other shoulder in hand as well and trying to ease the other boy’s eyes off the floor. “Draco you can help us, how did they get in last time?”

   Draco began to panic, finally looking at Harry with pleading eyes. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know he was coming, what he would do! They all blamed me but they had my mother and Blaise was under the bed but Longbottom still, he still...” His eyes went back to the floor as he kicked the wall with the heal of his boot and blinked back tears furiously.

   Harry didn’t know what to do. Draco was clearly having a minor break down, but other than slapping him across the face Harry was fresh out of ideas to snap him out of it.

   “It’s okay, Draco,” came Sarah’s voice by Harry’s elbow. “It’s okay I promise.”

   Draco clenched his jaw. “No it’s not,” he whispered.

   Sarah considered him for a minute or so before speaking again. “What could you have done differently?”

   The question seemed to quiet Draco somewhat. He took in a few shaky breaths. “Everything,” he said, looking up at her. “I wouldn’t have let them mark me, I wouldn’t have gone down to the docks, said the words, let him in. I would have warned somebody, tried to stop them.”

   Harry could still feel his shoulders trembling beneath his hands, but at least he seemed back in the room with them. _“Could_ you have done any of that?” said Sarah in a small voice. Her tone was kind but the way she held his eye contact was firm.

   Draco threatened to crumble on Harry again, but he dug his fingers into his flesh. C’mon mate, he thought to himself. You can do it, pull yourself together.

   “They had my mother,” whispered Draco. “I was just a child, I didn’t know, I was scared I...I...”

   But Sarah was shaking her head. “You’re right, all those things you just said, you’re right.” She reached for his arm below where Harry’s hand rested and squeezed. “You were a victim, and you can’t do anything to change what happened.” Then she smiled at him. “But if anything really is happening now, you _can_ help us. You can stop it happening again, in this world.”

   Harry was nodding. “You can tell us how it happened before – how many ways can there be to get into the school? It’s a fortress.”

   Draco looked between the Potters holding him, and then slowly, very slowly, he nodded. “You’re right,” he said, “you’re right I can help, I’ll show you.”

   Harry let himself smile as well and clapped Draco on the shoulder.

   “No,” said Ron, who Harry had momentarily forgotten was even there. “No, no, no. You expect me to believe he just shows up, right before the school gets attacked-”

   _“Might_ have got attacked,” cut in Hermione.

   “And then he knows how to stop it or whatever?” Ron looked incredulous and more than a little bit angry. “And how can anyone _get_ into the school anyway! Hermione, back me up here, how many layers of defences does this place have? It’s just not possible!”

   “I know it’s possible,” growled Draco, which just earned a told-you-so hand gesture from Ron.

   “See! How massively _unlikely_ is that!”

   Harry stood shoulder to shoulder with Draco. “About as likely as me showing up in a universe where Pettigrew is still a traitor, being able to expose his betrayal, then being the only one with the ability to save my sister, take on You-Know-Who and win.” He pointed to his scar as if to illustrate the point. “The other Harry never had to face him, never held a sword, couldn’t speak Parseltongue and, most importantly, would _never_ in a million years trusted Draco when he arrived asking for help.”

   Ron wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Sarah and Hermione were nodding. Harry was aware time wasn’t on their side, but he thought it was worth just a few more minutes if it could make them understand, get them all on the same team.

   “Hermione, your Hermione,” he said, indicating Sarah and Draco. “Told me that the reason there’s all these alternate realities is because everything that could happen, does happen. Therefore, in each reality that’s the way it was meant to be, it couldn’t be any other way because that way happened in some other plane of existence.”

   Hermione was nodding, but Ron screwed up his face and seemed to be trying to think it through. “So when I crossed over,” Harry continued, “it was because I was _meant_ to be there, I was...drawn to where I was needed.” He shrugged. “It’s just a theory, but Draco and Sarah said they didn’t do anything to prompt them crossing over. Maybe they were just meant to be _here_ too, because we needed them and their experiences.”

   Ron turned to look at Hermione, who nodded. “Harry said something about that before, when he’d just come back, and I always thought it made sense.”

   “Well, technically it’s your theory, so why wouldn’t you,” muttered Ron, but he threw up his hands in defeat anyway. “Okay, fine, so this Malfoy’s a good guy and he’s been sent here to save the day. Let’s go see if it actually needs saving.”

   “I couldn’t agree more,” said Harry, a wave of relief coursing through him. “Let’s go find some bad guys.”

 

***

 

   Sarah kept a close eye on Draco as they began their journey once more through Hogwarts. He seemed more stable after their impromptu intervention. She couldn’t really imagine how it must feel to come to terms with what he was forced to do as a child, and now to be thrust into what was essentially a re-enactment of it could really tip him over the edge. She decided not to stray too far from him, just in case he felt like doing something drastic.

   The castle was eerily hushed as they made their way along. Draco had told them he’d let the Death Eaters in via the docks in their own world, but seeing as they’d probably be long gone from them now they’d decided to head to Dumbledore’s office, much to Hermione’s quiet satisfaction after all. However they hadn’t gone more than one corridor before they ran into someone.

   Sarah felt her insides jolt as they rounded the corner to see a small figure in Gryffindor Quidditch robes staring out of the window, clutching a battered old broom, but almost instantly she recognised who it was.

   “Natalie,” she breathed out in relief, forgetting that this wasn’t really her best friend and that this Natalie McDonald had no idea who she was. She pushed past the others and raced towards her, but she didn’t move. In fact, as Sarah stopped beside her, it didn’t even look like she was breathing.

   “Natalie?” cried Sarah, suddenly panicked, and reached out to grab her arm.

   “Don’t touch her!” snapped Hermione, and Sarah whipped her head around as the other four approached.

   “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?” Natalie was as still as a statue as she gazed out of the window, a look of surprise frozen on her face. Hermione came up close to her and peered into her unblinking eyes, then glanced over the rest of her body.

   “I don’t know,” she said, frowning and pulling out her wand. She flicked around a couple of spells and murmured to herself.

   “Is she petrified?” asked Ron, and Sarah studied her face.

   “She looks more shocked than scared,” she said, but Hermione was already shaking her head.

   “No, he means Petrified, it’s a state of magically immobility. But unless there’s another Basilisk been set loose, I’m not sure what could have done that.”

   “Plus she’s staring out the window,” added Harry. “So it would have had to have been a flying Basilisk.”

   “Wait, hang on,” interrupted Draco. “What do you mean ‘another Basilisk’?” Sarah had been wondering the same thing. Surely there was only one huge snake hidden underneath Hogwarts?

   Ron puffed his chest with pride. “Harry totallykilled You-Know-Who’s Basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor. _And,”_ he added, “he was only twelve.”

   Draco stared open mouthed at Harry, who looked a little embarrassed. Draco would have been the same age when he enabled the Basilisk’s release in their reality, and here Harry was having bloody killed it. She worried what that would do to Draco’s fragile state of mind.

   Hermione cleared her throat. “Can we get back to the matter at hand please? Why is this girl frozen?”

   “This is my friend Natalie,” said Sarah softly. She leaned in and examined her face. She could have been a wax model for all the life she showed. “Will she be okay?”

   Hermione pursed her lips. “Well,” she said uncertainly. “I was Petrified and I was fine.” Sarah saw Draco’s eyes widen at this but he remained silent. “So if it’s something similar, a dose of Mandrake Drought should sort her out no worries.”

   “And if it’s not?” asked Sarah quietly.

   Hermione considered that a moment. “Let’s go to McGonagall’s office. It’s closer.”

   They started up their run through the castle again, taking as many of the back passages as they could to the Deputy Head Mistress’ office. The Harry from this world and his friends knew far more short cuts than Sarah or Draco did between them, and she tried to commit as many as she could to memory.

   Any time they ventured out into the corridors themselves, Sarah got a squirming sick sensation in her belly that they were going to run into trouble, or even more worrying, that it was going to creep up behind them. They found themselves running past several more students, just as frozen stiff as Natalie had been, all with a surprised or concerned look upon their faces. Sarah found herself wondering what their last thoughts had been before they became as good as statues, but then an even worse thought crossed her mind as she glanced at an older Hufflepuff student. What if they were still _awake?_ What if they couldn’t move but they could still see and hear? The prospect terrified her, and she rushed past the student trying to push the notion from her mind.

   From what she could remember, they were getting close to McGonagall’s office when they came across Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, mid-sprint to the Deputy Head. Seamus’ feet had actually left the floor mid-stride, and she stared in wonder as Ron Weasley came to a halt and waved his hand under the Irish boy’s shoes.

   “Hermione look at this!” cried the red head, which earned him a frown from Hermione and a ‘shh’ from everyone else.

   “You don’t know who could be about,” scalded Harry in little more than a whisper.

   Hermione came walking back to where everyone else had stopped around Seamus and Dean, and folded her arms. “I don’t get it, it just doesn’t make sense,” she hissed to no one in particular, shaking her head. “It’s not possible Harry, it’s just not. No one could get in the school and bring it to a halt like this, it’s just-”

   But she broke off suddenly, head whipping round, wand in her hand. Sarah’s heart leapt into her mouth. “What?” she whispered, fear making the words quaver ever so slightly. “What can you hear?”

   Hermione tilted her head and put her finger to her lips, her frown increasing so there were deep grooves in her forehead. “Can you hear that?” she mouthed.

   Sarah and the rest strained to find what Hermione had honed on to, and suddenly it was there. It was like a fierce buzzing noise. “What is that?” asked Harry, clearly having heard it too. Draco clenched his jaw together as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.   Sarah took his hand and gave it a squeeze, but he barely seemed to notice.

   The buzzing was getting louder, and it was coming from behind them. The five teenagers all turned slowly, eyeing up the end of the corridor. “Hermione,” said Ron tersely. “What-”

   But he didn’t get to finish his question, because at that moment two creatures flew around the corner, and Sarah had to slap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. They were like giant wasps, at least two feet long, with a dozen black eyes on each side of their heads and mouths that seemed to be jabbering inaudibly, displaying numerous rows of sharp teeth.

   _“Stupefy!”_ yelled Harry and Hermione simultaneously, taking down one of the insects each. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of spindly black legs, unconscious for the next few minutes at least.

   “What...are they?” breathed Sarah, trying not to gag as they edged closer to the fallen beasts. Any animal with more than four legs was a no-go area as far as she was concerned, let alone mutant sized wasps with far too many eyes and vicious looking mouths.

   “Wranglers,” answered Hermione, nudging one of the creatures with her toe to make sure it was really out for the count. Sarah’s stomach gave a roll as she did. “From South America, they’re practically extinct Hagrid said, or no doubt he’d already have a pair as pets. This one’s a male – see the extra glands he has under his eyes? I should have known. There’s probably dozens of them here.”

   The mere suggestion of that made Sarah blanche.

   “Known what?” asked Harry, looking over the other Wrangler which Sarah took to be a female from her lack of glands.

   Hermione rubbed her head. “The male has the glands with the dust in. The female has the larger frontal lobe, see how much bigger her head is?”

   “So what do the dust and lobe do?” said Draco quietly, looking up and down the corridor.

   Hermione sighed. “The front lobe amplifies their telepathy. All Wranglers are connected, like a hive mind, but the females are stronger at it. The dust...the dust is sprayed at a victim, and once it’s inhaled it paralyses the person, puts them in the suspended animation that we’ve seen in the students.”

   “Oh,” said Sarah slowly, not sure where the biology lesson was going. “Are they still awake?” she asked, thinking of the Hufflepuff boy, Seamus, Dean and Natalie.

   “No,” Hermione told her. “Once frozen the female adds the person to the hive mind, it’s like they’re asleep. The more minds in a hive, the more powerful the binding is.”

   “Binding?” asked Ron.

   Hermione nodded. “The telepathic bond acts as a sort of battery. By using wranglers, not only has whoever’s done this brought the school to a standstill, it’s also fuelled whatever spells are being cast.” She screwed up her fists in frustration. “That must be how they got into the school.”

   Sarah stared open mouthed at the ugly beasts. “Whoa,” she said, feeling a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. “So if they’re mind readers, would they have been able to let the others know we’re here?”

   “How can you know there are others?” jumped in Ron. “You said they were extinct?”

   Hermione shook her head. “They wouldn’t be of use just the two of them, they wouldn’t have been able to do this to the school, you’d need at least half a dozen pairs, probably more.” She looked up at the rest of the group. “I’m not sure if they would have had time to alert the others or not.”

   “We’d better get moving then,” suggested Harry. They hurried away from the wranglers, past Seamus and Dean, continuing towards McGonagall’s office.

   “Do you think they got the people from the Ministry?” asked Sarah, which Hermione replied with a nod.

   “They would have been expecting them.”

   “Not us though,” growled Draco, his face still very pale.

   “Those were probably scouts to make sure no one was left moving around.” She bit her lip. “We’re going to have to be very lucky not to get caught.”

   “Are you kidding?” muttered Sarah, spinning her wand through her fingers. “Lucky’s my middle name.”

 

***

 

   Harry wasn’t all that surprised to find McGonagall’s office deserted. It didn’t stop him from cursing out loud though.

   “Harry, really,” fussed Hermione. “Swearing won’t make her appear.” No, he thought, but it made him feel a lot better. Their situation was going from bad to worse; they’d already had to fight off another pair of Wranglers on their way up here, and goodness knew how many more there were lurking about the castle and how many of those knew that he and his friends were still walking around.

   He stared at the empty room, organised and tidy as always, thinking if he concentrated enough maybe McGonagall would come back. He didn’t know what to do, he just wanted to be told that for once rather than always having to take charge. “Maybe we should go to Dumbledore?” asked Ron, but it was Draco who replied.

   “His office is too far away, and even if we get there without meeting more of those wasps, he could be gone like McGonagall.” He turned his grey eyes to Harry. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

   “We can’t just run away,” said Sarah accusingly. “What about all the people here, what will happen to them if they just get left like this?”

   Harry shook his head. “No, Draco’s right, we can’t help them right now, we need to get ourselves out of here and call for back up.”

   “But what if the Death Eaters hurt them?” demanded Sarah, brushing back a lock of black hair and jamming her hands on her hips. He’d forgotten how stubborn she was, but then he thought, he’d never really had a chance to get to know her. “We don’t know what they want.”

   “I can probably guess what they want,” he said darkly. If Voldemort wasn’t after him, he’d eat his own broomstick.

   “Can’t we use the Marauders Map to check where Dumbledore and McGonagall are?” asked Ron. “Or any teacher for that matter, it might even shown up those wasp things and whoever’s in charge of them.”

   Harry rubbed the back of his neck to dispel some of the tension. “It’s back in the dorm, I’m sorry.” Ron went to open his mouth again but Harry interrupted him. “And so is the invisibility cloak remember. It’s just too far.” He looked at the group around him, debating what he was about to suggest. “I think our best bet is to get out of the school as quick as possible and head towards the Whomping Willow.”

   Sarah blinked at him.

   “The crazy tree that tries to decapitate you if you get anywhere near it?” clarified Draco, an incredulous look on his face.

   “Believe me,” said Harry, “the tree’s the least of our worries. How do we get out of here without getting caught?”

   Ron frowned and Sarah shrugged her shoulders. But Hermione smiled. “We walk out the door,” she said.

 

***

 

   Draco didn’t think this was a very good idea. Not even a sort-of-good idea, or might-improve-with-time idea, it was just bloody crazy. They made it through the castle without encountering any more of the Wranglers, but they did have to hide in a giant vase when a group of black robed figures came upon them suddenly. It was a good job they were arguing loudly about how far they could each throw a house elf, otherwise Hermione might not have had time to cut a section out of the vase for them all to jump in.

   “Depends how old the elf is,” insisted a man with a deep, rumbling voice. “Younger ones flail around more when they’re in the air, a wrinkly old one’d struggle less. _Aero dynamics,_ see?” he sounded pleased at knowing such a long word. Draco wasn’t sure which put him out more; the fact that the group walking past them were obviously Death Eaters after all, or that Hermione’s body was currently pressed right against him.

   _Focus,_ he scolded himself.

   When all was quiet again they had slipped from the vase and hurried down several floors to where they were standing now, peeking down a corridor at one of the school’s side entrances. Unsurprisingly, there were two Death Eaters guarding the doorway, and they didn’t look to be going anywhere anytime soon.

   “I don’t think I can do this,” whispered Draco, staring at their backs. His insides were a wreck and his hands were shaking almost uncontrollably.

   “Yes you can,” whispered Harry back, giving him a nudge. “I know you can.” But Draco shook his head.

   He was that scared little boy again, staring at Neville Longbottom’s crumpled form. There were Death Eaters in the school again, and here he was, right in the middle of it, it was his fault, he’d brought this upon this world, he’d caused it, he knew.

   “Draco,” said Sarah softly. “You’re the only one, no one else can do this, there’s no other way.” Draco clenched his jaw and tried not to panic. Surely there must be some other way? They’d discounted going back to Honeydukes as the village would most likely be crawling with Death Eaters by now, but Harry seemed to know so many hidden tunnels and passageways, Draco was convinced there had to be another way off the school grounds. But Hermione had said there wasn’t, and by going out of this exit it would give them the best cover to get to the Whomping Willow.

   Sarah had tried to ask again why they would want to go anywhere near the violent tree, but Hermione had waved her off saying she’d understand later. Draco, though, didn’t understand at all. Hermione had then explained to him what she wanted him to do, and he felt like all the air left the room. He’d fail, he’d get them all caught, he didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

   “See,” muttered Ron almost inaudibly. “I told you he couldn’t do it, he’s on _their_ side.” Draco felt every muscle in his body tense and he slowly turned round and glared at the red-headed boy. Without another word he stood up and went strolling down the corridor towards the Death Eaters.

   “You there,” he called out, trying with all his strength to stop his voice from wavering. The two figures turned around, wands up and suspicious. One was a fat, bearded man, the other a square looking woman with pigtails.

   They seemed confused at the sight of him. “Draco,” said the man, who obviously knew him but Draco had no idea who he was. “We thought you’d be frozen, that you were playing along?”

   Draco found himself scoffing. “And become a human battery with all the other morons, I don’t think so. Didn’t my father explain anything to you?”

   He could do this, it was coming back to him, how he used to saunter about and bark orders at people as a child. Be your father’s son, he urged himself, just for a few minutes, that’s all you need.

   The woman opened and closed her mouth. “Sorry...sir,” she said, surprising Draco with her courtesy. Lucius Malfoy obviously must be just as intimidating in this world as his own he reasoned. “We haven’t had direct orders from your father, they’ve all come from Lestrange.”

   Draco found his hands curling. He wasn’t really surprised her slippery fingers were all over this. “Of course,” he said, improvising, “that would explain it then. She’s requested to speak to you immediately, and instructed me to take over your post. She’s in McGonagall’s office.”

   The two hooded figures exchanged glances. “I didn’t think she was at the castle?” said the woman. Draco rolled his eyes after only a moment’s pause.

   “In McGonagall’s _fireplace,_ what did you think I meant?”

   They still looked unhappy. “We were told not to move under any circumstances,” said the man. Draco almost felt sorry for them, then gave them a cold look and drew his strength up through his taught chest and cramping fingers.

   “By all means,” he said pleasantly, leaning against the wall, slipping his shaking hands in his pockets. “I’m sure she won’t mind being kept waiting.”

   With little more than a fleeting look at each other, the two Death Eaters took off at a run, right past the spot where Harry and the others were crouching in the shadows.

   Draco let out a breath and felt his vision lurch unpleasantly as he gripped the wall and tried to right himself. It worked, he told himself as he sucked in air, you did it, we can escape.

   The other four came creeping up to him. Sarah gave him a quick hug, Harry a punch on the arm. Hermione looked him up and down. “Pretty good,” she said with eye brows raised. Ron harrumphed.

   Hastily, Harry edged up to the heavy single door, and pulled it slowly on rusty hinges. At the first hint of a squeak, Hermione darted forward and zapped it with a silencer charm, and within a minute the thick oak door was wide enough for them to all get through into the bright Autumn afternoon. “We’re right by the forest here,” said Harry.  “Follow me and we’ll be at the willow in no time.” He looked around the students apprehensively as Draco tried to slow his heart rate even just a little. He wasn’t sure he was ready for any more excitement just yet. “We should be well covered, but I want to run anyway, so watch your feet on any roots or anything else that could trip you.”

“And keep an eye out for giant bugs,” whispered Sarah to Draco, wand held in front of her face, forehead beaded with sweat. He managed a nod, and then they were off.

   Draco felt like a bird taking flight as they leapt out into the sunshine and pelted for the foliage. As they left the school behind a great weight rose from his shoulders as he gulped down fresh air and blinked against the cobalt blue sky. The tree branches reached hungrily towards them as they dove into the forest, swallowing them up as they ran without a word for the irate deciduous. Panting mouths and snapping twigs were the only sounds that accompanied them. Draco kept glancing behind, anxious they were being followed or watched. If they were, he saw no sign of it.

   Ron scooped up a long but sturdy looking branch from the forest floor. Draco thought it was a questionable keepsake at best as it kept knocking into all the shrubbery as they sprinted through, but he soon realised why it was needed. As they broke out from the tree line and approached the flailing tree, Ron darted up to it, and poked it with the stick in between several overlapping roots.

   The tree went as still as a statue. Sarah’s mouth dropped open as she looked back at Draco, then grinned. _“Cool,”_ she said, and Draco had to remind himself that after all, she was only thirteen.

   Ron was sliding down under the roots, and after a few seconds he disappeared completely. “Come on,” said Harry, beckoning Draco and Sarah along as Hermione lowered herself down. “It won’t stay still for long, there’s a tunnel we can use to get us out of here.”

   Draco insisted Sarah go first so he could keep an eye on her. If Ron and Hermione were in front she should be safe enough, he reasoned.

   Draco scrambled through the dirt, feeling it rain down on him as he dropped into the tunnel, then moved over to make way for Harry. The other three were already moving on ahead, wands up and illuminating the wooden beams holding the walls in place. Harry only just made it inside before the willow’s branches started lashing again, even more fervoured than before, as if it sensed it had just been tricked. “Let’s go,” said Harry with a smile, indicating they should follow the others.

   But Draco only managed a few steps before his fears and doubts caught hold of his ankles again and he stumbled to a halt. “Hang on,” he said, making Harry stop as well. “Hang on what are we doing?” He pointed back up to the shaft of sunlight that indicated the tunnel’s entrance. “We’re just running away? What about everyone that’s trapped in there, what about Blaise and Dean, those wasps could be _hurting_ them.”

   Harry looked a little lost for words. “You think we’d just abandon them?” Draco felt more than saw the other three come back up the tunnel towards them, drawn to his raised voice no doubt.

   “Well, what are we doing?”

   Harry allowed himself a half smile and put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. The physical touch, like the ones he got from Sarah and his own Hermione, still felt a little alien to him after so many months without his mother. “We’re calling in the cavalry.”

   Draco shifted uncomfortably. “What does that mean?” he said, feeling a little foolish. He guessed it was some sort of Muggle saying, but he’d only had a few weeks of Muggle Studies and Hermione wasn’t always so au fait with pop culture terms.

   This Hermione smiled at him though. “It means we’re going to get help.”

   “The tunnel leads to the Shrieking Shack,” added Harry. Sarah visibly paled in the faint wand light.

   “We can’t go _there!”_ she said, horrified. “It’s haunted, there’s monsters and ghosts in there, dad said so!”

   Harry and the other two laughed, but Draco had to say he’d heard the same thing and couldn’t blame Sarah for balking.

   “Dad was pulling your leg, trust me,” said Harry. “You’ll have to ask Remus about it when you get home. Right now though, we really have to go.”

   Sarah looked like she was going to fight, but Draco gave her a nod. If Harry said it was okay, they were just going to have to trust him. The sooner they got help, the sooner they could rescue this world’s Blaise and Dean, and then get back to their own versions in their own world.

   As they ran though, Draco looked at Harry. He looked away almost straight away; he didn’t want to stare as that would be weird. But this Harry was so different to the one he was stuck with back home it was unreal. His face was so open and honest, every action was fuelled and purposeful. And he genuinely cared about the people around him. Was Hermione right, was this boy really buried somewhere, deep down in their version? He really hoped she was right.

   Last time, Draco had only found out the truth after Harry had travelled back to his own world. What would it be like this time when he actually had to say goodbye?

   He pushed the thought away. He was being very optimistic worrying about goodbyes, when they were on the run from Death Eaters who had taken over the school in less than an hour. He had a feeling they had a long way to go before they would be able to worry about Dimensional Hotspots and Inter-Dimensional Leaps.

   When they reached the end of the tunnel, Draco saw they were faced with another trapdoor above them just like at Honeydukes. Ron waited to get a nod from Harry, then shoved the old wooden door up. They hauled themselves up one by one; it was lower than the one in Hogsmeade so they had less trouble. When Draco emerged he saw he was in an incredibly dusty living room, with old looking tracks where some had obviously disturbed the dust some time ago. There were footsteps, but also it looked like something had been dragged along, and the thought made Draco’s stomach turn.

“Looks like no one’s been here since us,” said Hermione as Harry lifted himself up into the room. He looked around and kicked the door closed.

   “Good,” he said. “Then hopefully no one will think to look for us here.” They traipsed through the house, kicking up dust clouds as they moved. The walls creaked and it looked like every surface and piece of furniture had been ravaged, but it seemed to Draco as they travelled through the kitchen and back out into the sunshine, whatever had once haunted this place, if anything ever had, was long gone.

   Draco rubbed his temple. The fierce headache he’d had when they’d first arrived seemed to be lessening, but he still felt quite queasy. And all the adrenaline and stress was certainly not helping matters.

   “So where are we going now?” asked Sarah, looking back up at the ramshackle of a house. The Scottish landscape unfolded out in front of them, revealing rolling hills, copses of trees and sparkling little streams working their way downwards to the big loch to the left.

   “Sirius’ house,” said Hermione, before raising her eyebrows at Harry. “We are going to Sirius’ house aren’t we?” Harry nodded and started walking along a trail so vague that barely qualified as a pathway.

   “But,” said Sarah as they all fell into line behind him. “Sirius’ house is in London, at Grimmauld Place?” The trail seemed to be slowly leading them down towards the lock, but the angle was very gradual.

   Harry made a guttural noise at the back of his throat. “That horrendous place? He got rid of that ages ago.”

   “Wait a minute,” said Draco, catching up to Harry. “Sirius – is he, does that mean you-”

   “Saved him?” jumped in Sarah, running up to Harry’s other side, eyes as wide as saucers as she realised the same thing as Draco. “Because our Sirius showed us the letter, he told us everything you told him, but we never knew what happened.” She was right, part of proving that the body swapping had happened had been to show everyone that letter, the one detailing amongst other things how the Sirius of this world was wrongly accused of the Potters’ murder and sentenced to getting his soul sucked out by a Dementor’s Kiss. His Sirius had confided to Draco once over a bottle of fire whiskey he’d asked Harry not to go, to stay with them and live the better life, but Harry had convinced him he had to go home and rescue his own Godfather. Always the bloody martyr, thought Draco with a mix of bitterness and pride.

   “It was nothing short of genius,” declare Ron proudly from behind them, and with a jolt Draco realised it had been him that had written the other half of that very letter. He’d never given it much thought, just some other friend of Harry’s – he’d never connected that it was Ron Weasley, and he certainly hadn’t put it together since they’d arrived. More pressing matters were at hand, he supposed, but it was still a funny realisation.

   As Draco picked his way along the dry and stony track, Ron told them all how Harry, upon returning from Sarah and Draco’s universe, had decided not to go and tell people of his homecoming right away, and instead snuck up to the Gryffindor tower to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak. “But this girl a few years below-”

   “It was that girl we just saw,” interrupted Hermione. “Natalie.”

   “Yes!” agreed Ron excitedly. “So her and a bunch of mates saw Harry before he got the cloak on, and ran down to tell everyone in the Great Hall, and the place went nuts looking for him. But Harry just slipped into McGonagall’s office and used the Floo network to get into the Ministry.”

   “The Ministry of Magic?” clarified Draco, eyebrow raised as Harry determinedly looked at the ground. Draco could see the half smile on his face though.

   “Yup, walked right in and demanded to see Fudge. The Minister didn’t want to listen, but then Harry just slaps this bottle of Veritaserum into his hand, and says ‘Now are you gonna prove Sirius is innocent, or am I’ – what a legend!”

   Harry looked sideways at Ron as he clapped him on the back. “I knew reasoning with him wouldn’t work, so blackmail seemed like the next best option.” He shrugged. “This way, once he’d heard the truth, he could spin it any way he wanted, and he ended up saying he had no idea Sirius had never had a trial, gave him a full and very public pardon, and put a warrant out for Peter Pettigrew instead.”

   Sarah had tears in her eyes. “Oh that’s amazing.”

   Draco frowned. “I would have thought he would have tried much harder to sweep it under the carpet that that.”

   Harry nodded. “So did I, I thought he’d take me down too, but I had to at least try.”

   “I think,” said Hermione, arms folded over the lightweight top she had on and shivering slightly in the brisk highland wind. “He figured if Harry was that confident, maybe he was really telling the truth, and it would be much better to present himself as the saviour rather than battle it and risk it coming out anyway.”

   “Didn’t he blame a load of people from the Justice Department?” asked Ron.

   Harry laughed. “He tried to pin it on Kingsley Shacklebolt, until Kingsley told him in no uncertain terms he’d been protecting Sirius the entire time, so Fudge had to back pedal that one pretty sharpish.”

   Draco remembered Shacklebolt from Germany. A large, imposing African gentleman with whom Draco probably wouldn’t want to fight with either. He smiled. “So Sirius is a free man.”

   “And living the good life,” Harry said with a laugh. “He’s got a lot of years to catch up on and he’s not wasting any time.”

   “He lives in a little cottage down here,” said Hermione, pointing. “But he’s also got flats in London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam-”

   “His bank vault in Gringotts got reopened too,” said Harry by way of an explanation. “Remus lives with him here a lot of the time as well, and sometimes Tonks too.”

   “I think they like to keep an eye on him,” said Hermione warmly, rubbing Harry’s arm, but Draco was trying to remember something.

   “Andromeda Tonks?” he asked.

   “No, her daughter Nymphadora,” said Harry. “But she’d kill you if you tried to call her that, so it’s just Tonks.”

   “I still say she’s snogging one of them,” said Ron, a pink tinge in his cheeks. “I don’t care about the age difference, she’s _always_ round there.”

   “And I still say it can’t be Sirius,” said Hermione hotly, turning to Draco. “She’s his second cousin.”

   “Yeah,” agreed Draco. “I know. So am I.”

   Everyone in the group stopped to look at him. “Sorry?” asked Hermione.

   “Yeah,” said Sarah loudly. “What do you mean, you never said that before.”

   Draco opened his hands out. “You never asked. Why do you think he took such an interest in me? The rest of our family are rubbish.”

   “Wait,” said Ron, “back up and explain.

   “Andromeda Tonks is my mother’s sister,” said Draco. “And Sirius is my mother’s cousin. But Andromeda and her husband were murdered by You-Know-Who years ago, along with a cousin I never met – I guess that must be this Tonks.”

   Harry looked sad. “I’m sorry,” he said, but Draco shrugged.

   “I know it’s sad, but I never knew them.” He smiled. “My mother always said Andy was her favourite sister, but,” he added darkly, “that’s not hard when Bellatrix is the other option.” He got that twisted feeling in his guts again, thinking whether or not his mother might be alive in this universe. He almost asked the question; if her sister was alive, why shouldn’t she be? But it died on his lips. He was better off not knowing.

   “Well,” said Harry brightly, clapping him on the shoulder and starting to walk again. “Maybe you’ll get to know her now.”

   Draco smiled. “I’d like that.”

 

***

 

   Harry felt a warm sensation of relief flow through him as Sirius’ house came into view. Sirius would know what to do, everything was going to be okay. At the very least they could look forward to a hot cup of tea.

   Remus threw open the door before they’d even reached the front gate. “Harry!” he cried out, flustered. “What are you doing here, is something happening at the school, are-” But he stopped mid-way down the garden path, eyes locked on Draco. Harry already had his hands up defensively, but Remus started shouting regardless. “You, scheming, good-for-nothing, traitorous little – you’ve got something to do with this haven’t you!” He wrenched the shiny black gate open, and grabbed Draco by the collar, completely ignoring Harry’s cries of protest. “What have you done to my Godson!”

   “REMUS!” Harry bellowed, finally getting his surrogate uncle’s attention. “Let him go, you don’t understand.”

   Remus scowled at the boy, then looked at Harry. “What, what don’t I understand?” He looked haggard, face all drawn out, hair mostly grey and eyes that pleaded for a decade’s worth of sleep.

   Harry sighed, exasperated. “Let him go and I’ll explain.”

   There was a few tense moments before Remus relented and removed his hand from Draco’s jumper. He staggered back a few paces and Sarah jumped to steady him. Remus eyed her up suspiciously as Draco took several breaths in and out through his nose, fists curled into balls. Harry worried they might be moving past the broken, self-doubting Draco and fast approaching a violent, daddy-didn’t-love-me time bomb. There was only so many unfounded attacks one person could take when they already thought themselves to be guilty without flying off the handle.

   “Explain,” said Remus stiffly. “The school’s been attacked hasn’t it? How did you escape, and why is the Malfoy boy here.”

   Harry couldn’t help but glance at Hermione, who raised an eyebrow. Remus was the calm one, it was Sirius who tended to blow up like a volcano then come crawling back to apologise later. Draco must have really pressed a button. But Draco hadn’t done anything wrong.

   “His name isn’t Malfoy,” said Harry evenly. “It’s Draco, and yes the school’s been attacked by Death Eaters, but Draco’s the one who got us out so I’d like it if you could cut him a bit of slack.”

   Remus narrowed his crinkled eyes at Harry, and he couldn’t help but think back to his level-headed, healthier looking counterpart in Draco and Sarah’s world.   He had been instrumental in keeping the peace when Pettigrew had kidnapped his sister, defending Draco even before Harry himself had been convinced of his genuineness. But of course this Remus didn’t know anything about that, because Harry had only ever told Sirius and even then sworn him to secrecy. Sirius, he figured, deserved to know what drove him to such an act of lunacy in front of the Minster of Magic last November, but he didn’t want anyone else knowing for the same reasons he didn’t like talking about it with Ron and Hermione. He thought that world was closed forever to him, so what was the point of torturing himself? How little did he know.

   “Draco?” repeated Remus in a tone that was almost scathing.

   “Yes,” snapped Harry. He didn’t know what had got into his second Godfather, but right now there was more pressing matters at hand. “Could we maybe come in before someone at the school realises we’re gone and comes looking for us?”

   Remus stared at him for a moment, then seemed to deflate. “Yes,” he said flatly. “Yes of course you should come in.” He glanced back at the little house covered in ivy, before beckoning the group in and walking back towards the front door still hanging a jar.

   “Are you alright?” muttered Harry to Draco as they followed Remus.

   “I’m used to it,” replied Draco coldly, eyes fixed on the back of Remus’ head. “I know what he’s like at home, it doesn’t matter if this version hates me. My Remus has my back.”

   They shuffled into the porch way and stamped dirt from their shoes. “He’s here,” called out Remus, but he didn’t sound too happy about it. They followed him into the kitchen, where Sirius was sat sullenly at the large wooden table, staring at a mug of black coffee. He jumped to his feet as he realised who was filing into the room.

   “Harry,” he accused, taking him in his arms. “What are you doing here?” He let go and unsurprisingly pointed his finger at Draco. “And _what_ is Malfoy’s boy doing with you?”

   “His name is _Draco,”_ growled Harry. “And he’s nothing like the boy you know.” They didn’t have time for this. “You remember the trip I went on last autumn?”

   Sirius’ eyes blinked in surprise as his posture loosened. “Yes,” he said slowly. Remus stood with his arms folded by his side, and Draco and Sarah flanked Harry closely. Hermione hovered uncertainly in-between the two, but Ron and already hunting through the cupboards in search of biscuits.

   “Draco’s more like the guy I met then...almost like he’s a different person.”

   Sirius stared at him a moment, then slowly switched his eyes to the blond boy. “I see,” said slowly. “Yes, I see.” He nodded his head, which Harry took to meant he hopefully understood, and then cast his eyes on Sarah. They flicked back to Harry for a minute, then back to her. “And this is?”

   “Sarah,” said Harry simply.

   Sirius rubbed his mouth then rested his chin on his fist. “James’ mum had the name Sarah too,” was all he said, before sitting back down at the table and staring back at his coffee.

   “I’m going to make tea,” announced Hermione a little too loudly, and began boiling the kettle.

   “Why did you come here?” asked Remus, obviously realising he wasn’t going to get anymore of an explanation regarding Draco or Sarah.

   Harry felt hurt. “The school,” he said, “all the students have been frozen, they’re probably searching for me right now, and we have no idea where Dumbledore or McGonagall are. We thought you could help.”

   Remus gave a snort of disgust, which Harry had no idea how to interpret. “Ron,” said Sirius, breaking through the tension. “How’s Scabbers?”

   Ron resurfaced from the cupboard door he’d been crouched behind, and looked at Sirius as if he’d lost the plot. “Scabbers?” he repeated through a mouth stuffed full of chocolate bourbons.

   Harry couldn’t help but agree with him. Scabbers was the name Ron had given to his pet rat before he’d revealed himself to be Peter Pettigrew and run away to leave Sirius as prime suspect for his parents murder. Sirius was there, as was Remus, they knew what a ridiculous question it was, but the were both just staring hard mouthed at Ron, waiting for an answer.

   “Scabbers is fine,” said Hermione brightly as she plonked several mismatched mugs and a freshly steaming teapot down on the table. “Though he does try his best to get away every now and again.”

   Harry stared at them all, lost for words. What was Hermione talking about? She sat down beside Harry and flicked her wand to fetch the sugar and several teaspoons, but when they too were settled on the table, she placed her wand deliberately in her lap, right hand still gripped tightly to it. A prickle went down Harry’s spine. Why was she and Sirius talking strange, why had Remus been so hostile?

   “Maybe you should think about letting him go,” said Sirius, toying with a teaspoon. “Before it’s too late.”

   “Tut, tut, tut,” came a voice from the corridor, causing every single person in the room to jump to their feet if they weren’t there already and brandish their wands. Harry realised with a terrible lurch that Remus and Sirius were both unarmed. “If you cheat sweet Sirius you spoil the game, and you know how angry that makes me.”

   Harry felt his insides drop as Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman he’d given a fiery death to in Germany last November, stepped into view. Clutched firmly in her grasp was a furious looking Tonks; her mouth gagged with black tape and Bellatrix’s wand pointed dangerously at her temple.

   “For God’s sake let her go!” shouted Remus.

   “Harry, I’m so sorry,” snarled Sirius. “We didn’t have a choice, they arrived about ten minutes before you did.”

   Harry supposed he should have felt betrayed, but at that moment his sole concern was with Tonks and the crackles of electricity coming from Bellatrix’s wand, singeing her bubblegum hair.

   He didn’t have to wonder who ‘they’ were for very long either. Behind Bellatrix at least half a dozen Death Eaters had emerged in the corridor, and more appeared from the back door and lingered outside the window. “I’m here,” said Harry softly at the deranged looking witch. “I’m here, I’m the one you want aren’t I?”

   “Clever little Potter,” cooed Bellatrix, flexing her fingers around Tonks’ neck. “And clever little Draco,” she said, turning to the boy frozen stiff beside Harry’s shoulder. “I wondered what you were doing sending me those idiots from the back door, wanted the glory for yourself did you?”

   Draco’s voice came out a cracked mess. “No!” I didn’t, this wasn’t-”

   “You liar!” screamed Ron, swinging his wand around to point it at Draco. “I knew you were on their side, I knew it!”

   “Ron no!” shouted Sarah, grabbing Draco’s arm and trying to move in between the two boys.

   “Hold it right there!” snapped Bellatrix, aiming her own wand at Sarah’s head, then hastily back at Tonks. Several of the robed figures behind her leveled their own weapons at Sarah instead, and she stopped moving.

   “You want me,” repeated Harry, as calmly as he could. He could smell where Tonks’ hair was burning; Remus looked distraught, edging as close as he dared to the two women. “You want me, not her. I’ll come quietly, just let everyone else go.”

   “NO!” roared almost everyone in the room, as Bellatrix laughed and Tonks shook her head and shouted from under her gag.

   “Hardly,” cackled Bellatrix. “I know what you Gryffindor types are like, they’ll fight tooth and nail before they let me take you.”

   “Damn straight!” yelled Ron as the hooded figures encircled them.

   “I’ll tell them to back off, _I’m telling you to back off,”_ Harry demanded of his friends. “I’ll go with you, just release her, she’s your niece for crying out loud!”

   Bellatrix scoffed. “She’s no relation of mine, my filthy sister married a filthy Muggle and this is the unfortunate result.” She dug hers nails into Tonks’ flesh, causing her to flinch. “I’d be doing us all a favour.”

   Before Harry or anyone else knew what was happening, Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him. “Bellatrix,” he said coldly, before she could react to his moving. Maybe she trusted him, thought Harry, she had no reason not to after all. “Let her go, and I’ll make sure Harry comes quietly.” Ron and Sirius went berserk, but Harry just stared at Draco uncomprehendingly.

   “That’s very kind of you nephew,” Bellatrix simpered.

   He moved to Harry’s side, taking a hold of his arm, and placing his wand against Harry’s head, just like Bellatrix had done to Tonks. “Let her go and we’ll all walk out together.” Sirius and Ron were still bellowing, their wands pointed at Draco, where as Hermione and Sarah just stared, as if trying to work out what part of the puzzle they’d missed.

   That was when Draco gave Harry’s arm a quick double squeeze. It wasn’t much, but Harry really hoped he understood correctly. Draco was playing Bellatrix. He wasn’t sure yet to what end, but if they could just get Tonks free they could take it from there.

   “He’s right,” said Harry, really hoping Draco knew what he was doing. “Let her go and we’ll come quietly.”

   Bellatrix looked at them, and then she smiled. And that’s when he knew they were in trouble. “I think I’ll keep her too,” she said in a sing-song voice. “As insurance.”

   “No,” breathed Remus. Harry felt Draco shrug.

   “Well, that’s disappointing to hear.”

   His wand swung from Harry to his aunt in a flash, firing out a jet of red light. Bellatrix screamed and flung her hostage aside, firing her own spells out wildly. All Hell broke loose. Death Eaters tried to pin down the students and Harry’s Godparents, but they fought back fiercely. Ron rugby tackled Draco away from Harry.

   “No!” he shouted. “Ron don’t!”

   But the two boys were trading blows and rolling around on the floor. Remus pulled Tonks up and tried to get her behind him, but the were spells flying everywhere and she was soon flinging crockery at their assailants, presumably having had her wand taken away from her as well.

   _“Stupefy!”_ yelled Harry as he threw the dining table over and shoved Sarah behind. _“Expelliarmus! Stupefy!”_ He saw Sirius get stunned and fall to the floor, Hermione was taking down every person she hit, but she missed at least half and suddenly got blasted back into the wall. “HERMIONE!” roared Harry, darting towards his friend as Draco managed to shove Ron off him and take out a Death Eater lunging towards them both. Harry ducked as Bellatrix fired something purple at him. Then several things happened at once.

   Instead of hitting his back, the purple spell hit a copper frying pan hanging from the wall. Sarah jumped up from behind the table and started firing spells of her own, causing Harry to turn and yell at her to get down. A Death Eater lying on the floor reached out for Harry’s ankles, grabbing on to him and sending him flying towards the kitchen’s large stone fireplace. Harry flung his hands up to protect himself from the flames, so he almost didn’t see the purple spell ricocheting from the frying pan and hitting the jar of Floo powder sitting on the mantelpiece.

   He did however see it fall into the flames just before he did.

   Harry didn’t cry out a destination, or even think one, he had no intention of abandoning his friends. But it was like being sucked into a hurricane, his body torn from the ground and spun away from the carnage, away from his friends who needed him and the enemies who would undoubtedly hurt them if he left them behind. “No,” he managed before the kitchen was whisked from sight, and he was tumbling through the Floo Network.

   Where he was headed was anybody’s guess.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh!! Where do you think Harry's going to end up?


	5. Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s better you lay your vengeance out for me to see.” Severus Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly late update, I wasn't able to get to a computer yesterday :-P
> 
> So, this chapter is officially the middle of the trilogy (in terms of chapter structure) and arguably the turning point for the whole story. So pay attention kids, lots going on here!

Chapter Four -

   Dream On

 

Blame it on your karmic curse

Oh shame upon the universe

It knows its lines

It's well rehearsed

 

It sucked you in, it dragged you down

To where there is no hallowed ground

Where holiness is never found

 

Paying debt to karma

You party for a living

What you take won't kill you

But careful what you're giving

 

Can you feel a little love

Can you feel a little love

 

Dream on, dream on

 

Depeche Mode

 

   Draco Malfoy ran through the driving rain as fast as his shaking legs would take him. A ferocious storm crashed about his head as he turned down the dilapidated road and pelted towards the house at the very end of the drive. The last streetlamp was dead, and if he hadn’t of known it was there, he might never have found it. The terraced houses loomed in the November night, barely a light was on and the shadows danced and leapt about the place as lightening pierced the sky. Chest numb and gulping down air, Draco practically fell on the peeling wooden door frame and began pounding on it with all that remained of his strength. He almost didn’t stop as the door was heaved open, but once he caught sight of who was on the other side he stumbled backwards, out once more into the rain. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the lights, having been wrapped in the night time for so long.

   “Draco Malfoy?” came the voice from inside, it’s owner a mere silhouette against the light coming from the torches on the walls. “What, may I ask, are you doing here?”

   Draco stumbled back a pace and grabbed onto the wreck of a satchel that hung about his neck. “Professor…please,” he gasped, rain running into his mouth as he spoke. “I don’t know what to do, please, you’ve got to help me.”

   Severus Snape stepped out from his rather poorly furnished hallway and onto the porch. He folded his arms and looked Draco up and down. “Help you how, Mr Malfoy?”

   Draco looked up at him through licks of painfully blond hair plastered to his face and clutched at his ragged bag. His trousers were sodden with mud and his cloak had caught at one end, making it fray badly. “They…killed her,” he stammered.

   Snape’s face wore the same pinched expression as always. If he already knew of his mother’s death or if it was a complete surprise to him, Draco couldn’t tell. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said eventually. “But I cannot do anything for you now except offer my condolences. She was a good woman,” he added with a hint of a smile.

   “No,” said Draco desperately, stepping up towards the porch again and pushing dripping hair from his eyes. “No she said, if anything were to happen to her, she said to go to you, that you’d help, that I could _trust_ you.”

   The words had been etched into Draco’s mind since the moment they’d left his mother’s lips over a year ago. He’d been so appalled at the idea that anything could happen to her, that one day she might be taken away from him, he’d been left with a residual and powerful nausea anytime he thought about it. She had never repeated herself, nor elaborated on what she’d meant, but the words had never faded.

   Which is how he found himself standing outside the front door of Severus Snape’s house in the middle of the night, during a thunder storm, having been on the run for four days straight.

   Since the moment he saw Voldemort murder his mother right in front of his eyes.

   “I was your mother’s friend,” conceded Snape. “But what is done is done, it is not for us to question The Dark Lord’s will.”

   At that Draco jumped right back up onto the porch. “No,” he growled, his voice hoarse from dehydration and lack of sleep. “No, she told me, she said _‘Severus is leading the way’,_ there’s a resistance isn’t there? The botched missions, the missing Death Eaters, I’m not stupid!” He was shivering but for the first time in four days he didn’t feel numb anymore. “They try and cover it up but there’s been rumours, Blaise said her dad got her a message from Oslo, that there are cells waiting to strike. She wanted to help.” He squared up to his old potions professor, rain water dripping on the old wooden floorboards. “And so do I.” Snape looked him up and down, and Draco took a deep breath. “So if you know how I can do that...you _will_ tell me.”

   Snape unfolded his arms, and after a moment’s consideration, stepped aside and indicated Draco should come in. Relief washed through him as he didn’t waste a moment walking into the house. They would pay, they had to pay, and Severus was going to help him do it.

   Snape flicked his wand at Draco, drying him instantly. “I would ask you to remove your boots and cloak please,” he instructed, striding off down the dim corridor as another bolt of lightning flashed outside. “I don’t want mud everywhere.”

   Draco did as he was bid, still shivering even though he was out of the elements. Snape told him to wait in the living room, so Draco traipsed though in threadbare socks and curled up in the armchair closest to the roaring fire.

   She’s gone, he thought for the countless time since he’d fled The Dark Lord’s lair in Germany. He felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down, unwilling to appear weak in front of Severus. Find the anger, he told himself, staring into the flames, use it, it’s a weapon.

   “I meant what I said,” announced Snape as he came back into the living room with a tray of mugs, teapot and sugar. “I can’t help you in the way I think you want.” He placed the tray down and sat on the sagging couch. “And you shouldn’t be talking about revenge or any other such notions. I understand grief makes us reckless, but our Lord will not.”

   Draco took the mug nearest him in silence and added milk. He had been sure Severus would have a reaction like this; if he was some kind of double agent, or had anything to do with a resistance, then he would naturally have to be incredibly careful not to let himself be caught out or tricked by spies. Draco just had to work out how to make him understand that he really did want to be a part of whatever plans there were to bring down Voldemort.

   And his father.

   A ripple of rage ran through Draco and stopped him mid-way through blowing on his tea. He would destroy his father for what he’d done, or failed to do more specifically. He would end his life even if it meant giving up his own.

   “I don’t care,” said Draco, staring at the flames and taking a mouthful of hot tea. It felt wonderful as it coursed down through his insides. “He took everything from me, and I will give my last breath to bring him down.”

Severus considered him a moment. “Don’t be so melodramatic,” he told him. Draco thought he probably should have felt embarrassed or chided by that, but he felt nothing other than his own determination.

   “I can understand your reservation,” he told Snape. “You’re worried I’m trying to get you to confess your involvement in a movement against the man you’ve sworn to serve with your life. But I’m not, I want to help, and that’s the truth.” He shrugged, the words sounding dead to his own years. He probably wasn’t capable of conveying sincerity at that moment, but he’d try his best. “Or maybe you’ve got nothing to do with it at all, so drag me back to him and tell him all about my treason, it doesn’t matter.”

   Severus regarded him for a while. “The truth,” he repeated, picking up his own cup of tea, but pausing before taking a sip. “You’re sixteen now aren’t you Draco?”

   “Fifteen,” he replied automatically. “I’ll be sixteen in December.” He then wondered why Snape would ask such a thing.

   “Mother’s maiden name?”

   “Black.” What was going on? Draco couldn’t seem to stop the words from tumbling from his mouth.

   “First kiss?”

   “Blaise says that getting cornered by Pansy Parkinson doesn’t count.”

   “Why are you really here?”

   “To make my father suffer the way he made me suffer.”

   Draco blinked. He’d meant to say something about doing what was right, about avenging his mother and all the countless others that had died.

   “I’m sorry Draco,” said Severus, reaching over and plucking his mug of half finished tea from his hands. He suddenly seemed a lot friendlier, or as much a Snape could be friendly. “I had to make sure.”

   He poured a fresh cup of tea in a different mug and added some milk before holding it up for Draco. “Your first drink had truth serum in it, I had to see if it had kicked in properly.”

   Draco stared at him a beat before accepting the mug. “You could have asked me something a lot more intrusive than that,” he mumbled, taking a gulp of the potion free tea even though it was too hot and scalded the back of his throat a little.

   “True,” admitted Severus. “Something humiliating might have proved the potion was working. But I meant the question I asked. It’s better you lay your vengeance out for me to see. We need to move past it if you’re going to be of any use.”

“Move past-” spluttered Draco, slamming his mug down on the coffee table. “My mother is dead.”

   “So will everyone else you care about be,” said Severus coolly. “If we don’t act swiftly and carefully. You do have other people you care about?” he asked.

   Draco swallowed, and after a beat picked his tea up again. “One,” he said.

   He was worried about Blaise. He’d begged her to come with him, but she’d said it would create too much suspicion. No one would question Draco flying off in a grief-stricken rage, but if they went together it would stink of scheming. She’d convinced him she’d be more valuable staying behind, ready to implement any plan the resistance executed, conversing with her father, looking after her little brother and making sure her mother thought everything was ticking along just fine. She gave her word she would rally any recruits, and do anything the resistance asked her to to help. But Draco didn’t want her in danger, he wanted her safe, he wanted her to hide under his bed.

   But of course she wouldn’t listen.

   “So you do have something to do with the resistance?” asked Draco, moving forward. The feeling was coming back into his tingling fingers through the piping hot china.

   Severus placed his cup back down. “I’m a lieutenant in the movement known as _Freiheit,_ it’s German for liberty.” He raised an eyebrow. “Some people wouldn’t know subtlety if it came up and hit them with a stick apparently.”

   A lieutenant, thought Draco, slumping back in his chair. _Freiheit._ This was even more well organized than he’d hoped. As if hearing his thoughts, Severus continued.

   “We have units in countries across the world – as you suggested your friend Blaise’s father has been running the Norwegian branch for years. People have been frightened, dissatisfied and very, very angry for some time now.” He leant forward and picked up his tea again. “These are turbulent times Draco, are you sure you want to get involved?”

   Draco sat back up in seat, eyes fixed directly on Snape’s. “Yes,” he said. Snape seemed to give a half smile, but Draco wasn’t sure what was funny.

   “You always did have enthusiasm,” he said. He licked his lips, finished the last of his tea and placed the mug at the foot of his chair. “People remember though I’m afraid Draco.”

   His insides ran cold, despite the tea he’d just drunk. “I didn’t know what would happen,” he said, his voice rasping again. He saw Neville Longbottom crumpling at his feet again. Severus nodded.

   “I believe you,” he told him, which made Draco feel a little better but didn’t wash away the terrible guilt he’d just brought back up. “I also think this would be an ideal opportunity for you to prove which side you’re on and change people’s minds.”

   Draco watched him, judging whether he was being sincere or kind. “How?” was all he said.

   “Something’s happening, I doubt you would have realised from your last few days in Germany, everything was being done to keep it under wraps. But it seems You-Know-Who is interested once more in Harry Potter.”

   Draco felt his jaw clench. He’d never understood what was so special about such an idiot, but since he’d been old enough to learn the other boy’s name, he knew The Dark Lord had been trying to kill him. “Why?” he snapped.

   Snape laced his fingers together in his lap, leant back a little and stared at them. “A lot of people have died to get us this information.” Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “You-Know-Who wants to kill the Potter boy...to prevent him killing him first.”

   Draco stared. “But – Potter’s just a boy, he’s even younger than me?” spluttered Draco, incredulous. He was almost offended at the idea that Potter would be powerful enough to take on Voldemort.

   “He’s also the Heir of Gryffindor.” Snape spoke so quietly Draco had to take a moment to process the words.

   _“What?”_ he breathed.

   Snape looked up from his hands. “If the prophecy is to be believed, he is the Heir of Gryffindor, and You-Know-Who is the Heir of Slytherin. History is destined to repeat itself, and one must kill the other.”

   “But,” said Draco, searching for words as he held his hands helplessly out. “He’s a _moron!_ He, he spends all his time bullying other students and hanging around with sycophants!”

   “I am extraordinarily unsurprised,” sneered Severus, curling his lip. “His father was exactly the same. Be that as it may, he is the heir and therefore possess the power to defeat The Dark Lord. And there’s more.”

   “More?” said Draco, raising his eyebrows. What now, Moaning Myrtle was actually the heir of Ravenclaw?

“More prophecies,” said Snape, shaking his head. “You-Know-Who’s obsessed, he has the best seers in the world working for him, whether they want to or not. Apparently there’s something to suggest that _right now,_ there’s something even more important about Potter, even more urgent.”

   “Like what?” asked Draco, mind whirling. He’d convinced himself over the years that all the fuss over Potter had been little more than hysteria, and here he was, the Heir of Gryffindor, the only one able to take down the most evil wizard that ever lived.

   Snape was shaking his head again. “Something or other about ‘displacing himself’ and ‘the king of all’...whatever it is, You-Know-Who wants him in his custody and he wants him now.”

   Draco folded his arms. He knew the Death Eaters hadn’t been actively trying to capture Harry Potter for years, if they upped their game chances were the Potters would have grown complacent and they’d have him in no time.

   “So _Freiheit_ wants to get to him first, to stop them from killing him.”

   Snape was nodding. “Or kidnapping him, it seems they want him alive. So do we, but not just to protect him. We want to recruit him.”

   Draco scoffed. He couldn’t help it. “That’ll go right to his head – the ex-Death Eaters crawling to the amazing, precious Harry Potter for help.”

   Snape smiled. “And thanks to your exceptional timing, I’d like you to be the one doing the crawling.”

   Any trace of humour vanished from Draco in an instant. “What?” he demanded.

   “The fact that you have very publically run away from the Death Eaters can be used to our advantage. In a few days time, you will contact your father.” He held up his hand as Draco immediately began to voice his objections. “You will contact your father and apologise for your irrational behaviour. You will then inform him that to make amends, you believe you can make contact with Harry Potter, befriend him, and when the time is right convince him to walk right into the Death Eater’s lair.”

   Draco stared open mouthed at him. “But...Potter hates me, I hate him...my father would never believe it.”

   Severus raised his eyebrows. “Do you really think your father pays enough attention to you to know who are and are not your friends?”

   The question stung, but Draco had admit he was right. “Okay,” he said. “But Potter _does_ still hate me – how will I be able to convince him to join us?”

   Snape shrugged. “How should I know. The point is, if the Death Eaters think you’re working for them, they’ll _let_ you get close to him. In the meantime, we can debrief and train him, so when the time is right, you can tell your father you’re bringing him to Germany under the pretence of fighting You-Know-Who. They’ll think a lamb’s being led to slaughter, meanwhile _Freiheit_ will be rallying it’s cells, priming them to strike when Potter meets the Dark Lord.”

   Draco considered everything Snape had just said. “So I’d be a double agent?” he asked after a while. He felt sick at the prospect. He didn’t know how to act, he’d only ever lied for self-benefit before. He didn’t know if he could play both parts. But then, if he could do it, Severus was right, it would go a long way to undoing what he’d done at the school two years ago.

“Yes,” said Snape. “You really couldn’t have picked a better time to knock on my front door. Your cover will be perfect.”

   It’s just a shame Potter will, never, ever in a million years listen to what I have to say, Draco thought. But what he said was:

   “I’ll do it.”

 

***

 

   “Harry!” screamed Sarah, as the fireplace erupted in green flames. She leapt out from behind Sirius’ kitchen table towards him, but a big burly Death Eater grabbed her by the waist and lifted her bodily from the floor. She flailed madly to try and get his hands off her, but as she squirmed the green flames became orange once more, and died down enough to see Harry was nowhere in sight.

   Sarah went limp. “Harry?” she said, her voice little more than a squeak.

   _“Ceasefire!”_ screeched Bellatrix, pushing one of her own men out the way to scramble to the fire. She grabbed a handful of Hermione’s hair on the way, yanking her protesting from the floor, and aiming her wand at her head as she gawped at the empty fireplace. _“Ceasefire! Ceasefire!”_

   Remus was huddled in the corner of the room, his head bleeding, cradling an unconscious Tonks as three Death Eaters pressed in on them. Draco stood in the middle of the room, turning this way and that, not sure which robed figure to point his wand at, but having enough sense to know there was too many of them now for him to face. Hermione was practically snarling as Bellatrix pulled at her hair, but she said nothing as her wand was snatched from her hand. Ron too gave up his wand without a fight, still scowling at Draco through a black eye and bleeding nose.

   The room seemed suddenly very quiet. “Where did he go?” shrieked Bellatrix. “What happened?”

   Sarah wriggled again; it wasn’t very comfortable being carried like roll of carpet. “Your spell,” she said, her anger outweighing her fear for this mad looking witch. “It hit the copper pan, then it hit the jar of Floo powder, which exploded on Harry as he fell in the fire.”

   Bellatrix stared at her a moment. “You’re lying!” she suddenly yelled, advancing towards Sarah and the brute holding her, dragging Hermione along with her. “That’s not possible, where _is_ he!”

   Sarah tried to shrink away but she couldn’t move very far. “I swear, that’s what I saw!” she cried, suddenly regretting speaking up. “I don’t know where he went, you have to tell Floo powder where you want to go!”

   “It’s true boss,” said a skinny robed man with a gruff voice. He rubbed the blood from his lip as he collected himself off the floor. “I grabbed his ankles and he tripped and landed in the fire. Floo powder must have exploded on top of him.”

   Bellatrix seemed to vibrate with anger. Her wand was pointed at the man and away from Hermione in a heartbeat. _“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_ she roared, and the man was back on the floor in a flash of green light before Sarah could even close her eyes.

   _“NO!”_ raved Bellatrix. “He was _here,_ I _HAD_ him!”

   Sarah couldn’t take her eyes off the man on the floor. Tears had sprung in her eyes and her whole body was shaking. Bellatrix hadn’t even blinked, she’d just killed him, in a temper. He was a Death Eater, so Sarah didn’t exactly care what happened to him.

   But she did very much care what happened to her and her friends.

   Bellatrix flung Hermione at a female Death Eater standing close by, making Draco struggle against the tall man currently clutching his shoulders. But as his wand had been confiscated too, there was little more he could do but bare his teeth.

   Bellatrix aimed her wand right in Sarah’s face and she couldn’t help but cry out and flinch away. No spell came from it though. “Where would he have gone?” Bellatrix demanded. Sarah prised her eyes open and looked terrified at the witch.

“W-what?” she stammered.

   Bellatrix looked like she might explode, and for a second Sarah was convinced she was about to unleash another killing curse. “Where,” she said slowly through gritted teeth. “Would he have gone, give me some ideas.”

   Sarah felt her heart smashing into her ribcage. Even if she did know where Harry might choose to go, she wouldn’t want to betray him. But it was highly likely Bellatrix would kill her too if she didn’t help.

   “The...the school?” she suggested meekly. She doubted he would go back there, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to send them back there looking. It could waste them hours.

   But Bellatrix wasn’t fooled. “Hardly,” she scoffed in her high pitched voice. “We’ve got people all over there, why would he go back?”

   Sarah started to panic. She literally couldn’t think of anything else to say. She didn’t even know where he lived in this reality, they had no parents and the house in Godric’s Hollow had been destroyed.

   “He might have gone to Sirius’ other house,” said Draco, still pulling at the tall Death Eater’s hands. “Grimmauld Place in London.”

   Ron cried out in indignation from the floor, causing the Death Eater watching him to threaten a blow. “Stop _helping_ her you bloody traitor!”

   Bellatrix actually took the time to turn and sneer at him. “Idiot child,” she spat. “He betrayed me right in front of your eyes then practically blew Higgins’ head off over there.” Sarah couldn’t really see, but from the angle she was being held she could make out a pair of legs splayed on the floor in the direction Bellatrix had just indicated. Bellatrix turned back to Draco. “Little Sirius tore that house down when he left.” Her face twisted. “That was a Black family heirloom. My family, _our_ family. Are you trying to trick me baby Malfoy?” she asked dangerously in a sing-song voice.

   “No,” grunted Draco. “But if you’re stupid enough to fall for it, that would be a bonus.”

   _“Crucio!”_ Bellatrix screeched at him, and instantly he fell to the floor, screaming and writhing in agony.

   “Stop!” yelled Hermione as Sarah watched on in horror. “Stop, stop it! Harry didn’t give the Floo powder any directions! He’ll just fall out a random fireplace, there’s no way to tell where!”

   Bellatrix, pulled her wand up, ending the curse and leaving Draco panting on the floor. “What,” she snapped, crossing the kitchen and grabbing Hermione by the chin. “What did the little Mudblood say?”

   “Leave her alone!” cried Remus, the only conscious one of their adult friends. “She’s right. He might get picked up by the hub at the Ministry, but other than that he’d just tumble out when the explosion from the powder looses it’s momentum.”

   “The Ministry?” she repeated. Remus nodded. Sarah guessed he thought they wouldn’t be able to reach Harry if he emerged there, so there was no harm in telling her. But Bellatrix suddenly looked delighted, and even laughed.

   “Thank you puppy,” she said, then turned to address the Death Eaters crammed into the kitchen and the corridor. “Bring the vermin, we’ll need hostages.”

   She swept out of the room as the Death Eaters did as they were told, and the big brute followed Bellatrix out with Sarah still bouncing under his arm.

   Bring them _where?_

 

***

 

   Harry wasn’t sure when the spinning had stopped, but now he was definitely not spinning. Now he was lying on the ground, ground that smelled like earth, ground that tickled. He opened his eyes groggily, and realised he was face down on some grass. Traffic rumbled in the distance, and the first hints of twilight edged the horizon.

   With a groan he rolled onto his back and blinked. The Floo powder – the whole jar had landed on him. He hadn’t told it where he wanted to go, but it had spun him off anyway. He guessed enough powder would have the power to do that.

   What had happened to the others? he panicked. He’d left them with Bellatrix and who knew how many other Death Eaters. How long had he been unconscious for, how long since he’d left them? He had to work out how to get back to them, to help them, and fast.

   He sat up and looked around. There was a large circle of hulking stones arranged around him, some propped up on top of each other like gateways, two upright with a third balanced on top. Then another cluster of rectangular stones in what might have been an inner circle. In the dipping light their shadows were long and formidable, and the damp cool breeze made Harry shiver. He felt a chill on his spine.

   Stonehenge, that’s what it was called he was almost certain. He’d seen it on the telly, it was a tourist attraction, an old Pagan place. He had no idea where in the country that was, but it certainly wasn’t in Sirius Black’s kitchen.

   There was movement to Harry’s right, and he snatched up his wand ready to defend himself. A man had poked his head around one of the big stones, looking up at it with interest. “Did that work?” he asked eagerly. “I think that worked!” he grinned before slumping his shoulders, his face dropping. “I’m not even sure what I’m doing any more.”

   “Who are you!” cried Harry, scrambling to his feet. “What am I doing here!”

   The man turned and looked at Harry in delight. “Oh you can see me,” he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and stepping out from behind the rock. “Well that _is_ a good start!”

   “Don’t come any closer!” warned Harry, brandishing his wand, and the man threw up his hands, diving back behind the rock before Harry could get a proper look at him.

   “Whoa!” he cried. “Now hold on just a tick!” His accent was extremely proper. Harry could have imagined him piloting a fighter plane back in the Second World War, but from what he’d spied of his jeans he looked modern enough. “I’d really rather you didn’t turn me into a toad before I’ve had a chance to explain myself.”

   Harry wasn’t feeling particularly patient. “How did I get here?” he asked, suspicious. “Did you bring me here!” Other than the thrumming road a few hundred feet away, there was literally nothing else in sight other than fields, so to his mind it made sense.  

   “Um,” said the man sheepishly, darting his head out for just a second again. “Maybe?”

   “What do you mean ‘maybe’?” snapped Harry, taking another step closer to him. He didn’t seem to have his own wand, but he did seem to know what Harry’s could do. So did that make him a Squib? “Who are you?”

   The man’s hand popped out from behind the rock, waving a white handkerchief. “A friend,” he announced.

   “A friend?” Harry repeated.

   “Yes!” cried the man, snatching back his hanky and peering once more at Harry. “A good one, you’ve no idea, I’m a great friend if you’d just give me a shot.” He looked Harry up and down, then darted back out of sight again.

   “If you say you’re a friend,” Harry challenged, getting closer to the stone. “Why would you take me away from my own friends when they were in trouble?” He was half thinking he could pounce on the man, take him by surprise, when his voice came from behind a completely different stone pillar a dozen feet away.

   “Now, now,” said the man sternly. “That was all you, you got yourself into the Floo Network all by yourself. I just plucked you out again, that’s what _friends_ do.”

   Harry’s eyes darted left and right. Perhaps he was magical after all if he could move around like that, and he knew about the Floo Network as well? “So you’re saying you rescued me?” he asked him as an evening breeze pulled at his t-shirt. The days may have been swelteringly hot lately, but the evenings betrayed the fact that autumn was fast approaching.

   “Yes!” cried the man. “See, great friend, told you so.”

   Harry wasn’t sure where this was going. “How did you manage that?” he asked. “You haven’t got a wand, have you?”

   “Oh no,” said the man as if that was a silly idea. “Of course not. But it is a bit complicated to explain from behind an ancient monument.” He peeked out again. “How about I come out, you hold off on the old Abracadabra, and I’ll do my best to set things straight?”

   Harry looked at his wand. “Erm,” he said. “I promise not to shoot you _yet,”_ he called back. “But I’m not putting my wand away. I’ve had a bad day.”

   There was a pause. “Okay, I think that’s fair enough,” said the man, and a few seconds later a head of expertly styled blond highlights came slowly out. He had his arms raised, and as he became fully visible Harry could see he was a slim, wiry sort of fellow, a bit taller than Harry himself with skin as pale as milk. To his legs clung skinny black jeans, fraying at the knees, tucked into a large pair of old pirate boots. His faded t-shirt just about still read ‘Glastonbury 1970’, over which he was sporting a navy blue tailcoat, re-stitched in several places, with gaudy gold piping and lining that had definitely come from somewhere in the Far East. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all.

   The man edged towards him in a hesitant, sideways fashion. When he was close enough, Harry was startled to see he was extraordinarily good-looking, a classic sort of handsome with a chiselled jaw and sky blue eyes watching him anxiously.

   “Do I know you?” Harry asked, something niggling him at the back of his head. He was pretty sure he’d remember meeting someone like this, and he didn’t think he had, but there was a spark of recognition none the less.

“Excellent question,” said the man, giving Harry a point before clasping his hands back together. He was watching him anxiously, eyes flicking all over him as if looking for some discrepancy. “There might be a few times you could say we met, it depends on what you remember.”

   “That’s not a real answer,” argued Harry.

   The man shrugged. “I think it’s a perfectly decent one,” he said. “I remember you just fine,” he said.

   “But how?” Harry asked frustrated. “We’ve never met before.”

   The man gestured between the two of them. “Not like this, no,” he said eagerly. “But if you’d give me a chance-”

   “Look,” said Harry impatiently. “I haven’t got time for this, my friends are in trouble and you’re just talking in riddles.”

   The man looked hurt. “This wasn’t how I’d pictured our first meeting going,” he said, clutching at his highlights, and Harry felt his anger blowing out.

   “Are you really trying to help me?” he asked, and the man perked up.

   “Yes, yes, cross my heart and hope to die,” he cried, actually crossing his heart with his index finger. Before bobbing his head from side to side. “Again. Hope to die, again,” he said.

   Harry raised an eyebrow. The man didn’t look like a ghost, or a vampire, but how could he already be dead?

   “Am…” Harry started, not believing he was actually going to say this out loud. “Am _I_ dead?”

   The man broke into a heartfelt laugh, bending double. “Oh gracious no,” he said once he’d got his composure back. “No Harry, that would be crazy.”

   Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck go up. “How did you know my name?” he asked, tightening his grip on his wand.

   The man looked guilty. “Ah, yes, that was a bit rude.”

   “Not the word I would have chosen,” said Harry, raising his wand again.

   The man threw up his hands again. “Wait, wait,” he said. “How about we even the score, hm?” He hopped forward again and extended his hand to offer a shake. “My name’s Alex,” he said, then thought about it. “Well at least I think it was something like that, it’s close enough anyway and probably much better than whatever it was before.”

   “Alex?” said Harry, ignoring the hand that was still hanging in mid-air.

   “Yes,” said the man who was apparently called Alex, a bright smile lighting up his face. “I like the ‘x’ in it, plus it could always be a girl’s name which I think is quite fantastic, always like to keep people guessing.” His hand was still out, so Harry finally gave in and, not taking his eyes off him or lowering his wand, shook it.

   “Ah!” exclaimed Alex, and took Harry’s hand with both his own in a firm, vigorous shake. “Magnificent to finally meet you Harry, a real pleasure.”

   “What do you mean ‘finally’?” snapped Harry, yanking his hand away and taking a few steps back. “How do you know me?”

   “Well, that’s my job, so to speak,” replied Alex, brushing his hands on the lapels of his tail coat. “Well, not ‘job’ I suppose, I don’t get paid, no use for money you see, although I do like the ones that come in different colours, and the coins with the little holes in.”

   “Look!” said Harry sternly. “I’ve just been dragged through the Floo Network against my will and had to abandon my friends to one of the most dangerous witches in the country!”

   “I know,” said Alex, suddenly calm.

   “So I would really appreciate if you – hang on,” said Harry, interrupting himself. “What do you mean you know?”

   Alex had his hands up again, but his face was now all seriousness. “I saw you fall into the fireplace and I saw what happened with the powder, that’s what I do, I see, I watch, my people – we’re called Watchers, immortals, well, once living, dead now but we’re allowed to carry on living, I guess is the best way to put it.” Harry doubted that but he let Alex carry on speaking without interruption. “I saw you fall into the network and it meant you were in a state of transit, plus it knocked you out cold, so I knew it was my chance, probably the best chance I’d have in a while and I couldn’t afford to wait for another one.”

   Harry stared at him as another breeze tugged at his clothes and made him shiver. “A...Watcher,” he said.

   “Yes,” said Alex, a little more cheerful. “Watchers, we were born human or whatever but we didn’t stay that way. How that happened is complicated and not wholly relevant to this story. What is relevant is we do what the name says – watch. Make sure everything stays in line and very rarely when it’s not in line we have to go and sort it out. Think of me as a librarian, cataloguing the whole universe and keeping it all numerically and alphabetically in line. When it stops being like that I have to swoop down and dish out the fines, but less with money and more with big fiery death.”

   “Big...fiery death?” said Harry uncertainly.

   “Actually, no, that was just being melodramatic,” said Alex reproachfully. “But the point is there’s no fines, I don’t do money remember?”

   Harry felt very tired all of a sudden. “So, you watch to make sure the universe stays in line?”

   Alex nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Been doing that since Julius Cesar was stomping about the place.”

   Cesar? That would make him, what, a thousand years old? Harry couldn’t even imagine being alive that long, and he thought of Nicholas Flannel and his Philosopher’s Stone.

   “So...” he said, weighing up his words. “Why did you pull me out of the Floo Network?”

   “Because,” said Alex, raising an eyebrow and giving him a half smile. “You have something that doesn’t belong in this universe, don’t you Harry?”

 

***

 

   As soon as the big guy dropped Sarah to the ground Draco knew there would be trouble. “No!” she cried out and tried to bolt for it. “No I’m not going with you, I won’t let you, you _can’t take me!”_ The oaf of a man gave her a solid backhand that sent her flying to the grass in Sirius’ front garden. Draco had been released by his own Death Eater as they prepared for what he assumed to be side-along apparition, so he leapt to Sarah’s side to pull her off the ground.

   “We’ll go with you!” he yelled as several Death Eaters raised their wands. “We’ll go quietly, there’s no need to hit her, she’s a third of you size you coward.” The ogre went to raise his hand to obviously give Draco a taste as well, but Bellatrix came storming back out again having rounded up the rest of her team.

   “Enough!” she barked. “I’ve had enough of this flea-infested house, it stinks of wet dog and curry. Move out!”

   She spun on her heals and vanished.

   “No,” whimpered Sarah as everyone else fussed around and started grabbing hostages to side-apparate with. “I’m not going to be a prisoner again, I’ll fight I won’t-”

   “Stand a chance,” said Draco hurriedly. “You’re unarmed and tiny. I promise I’ll protect you and we’ll all get out of this, just don’t struggle, not for now.”

   Sarah clamped her jaw shut as a different Death Eater picked her up and apparated out of sight. Draco let himself be dragged up too and hoped he could keep his promise to the youngest Potter.

   He felt the familiar sensation of being pressed from all directions, and just when he started struggling to breath, they popped back into reality in a ordinary looking city alleyway. Ron arrived with his captor about the same time, and when he saw where they were he groaned.

   “How can we be _here,”_ he said.

   “Where’s here?” hissed Draco as another robed figure emerged from nowhere with an unconscious Sirius Black in tow.

   “Give us a hand,” grunted Sirius’ captor to Draco’s, so he left them both in the charge of Ron’s protector, who seemed more interested in picking his teeth than his teenage wizards.

   “Ministry of Magic,” he said, nodding his head at a red public telephone box up ahead. “Visitor’s entrance. Dad took me and Ginny here a couple of times during school holidays.”

   Draco stared at the box and tried to imagine how it lead to Great Britain’s most important wizarding political stronghold. He came up short. Why were they here? Surely...surely the Death Eaters couldn’t have taken over the Ministry as well as the school. Could they?

   “I hope she’s okay.” If he hadn’t have been standing right next to him, Draco might not have heard Ron speak at all.

   “Who?” he asked, as several more Death Eaters popped up behind them, one of which was grasping a dishevelled looking Hermione.

   “My sister,” said Ron. “Ginny. She’s in the school somewhere, I just...hope she’s okay.” Draco couldn’t help but stare at him. He’d ranted and raved about leaving Blaise, but this was the first he knew Ron even had a sister. His thoughts were drawn back though to the redhead by the fireplace in Gryffindor’s common room; he’d thought at the time how similar the two had looked.

   “I’m sure she’s fine,” said Hermione. “She’s with all the others – where are we?”

   “Shut up,” grumbled a pear-shaped woman with a lop-sided hair cut. Draco looked around and grabbed Sarah’s hand as they were ushered up to the phone box. Remus was propping up a spaced-out looking Tonks, but Sirius was still very much out for the count.

   Hermione looked sorrowfully at Draco. “Looks like we’re going in.”

   They were forced into the box in small groups, packing in up to half a dozen people at a time. Draco and Sarah went in the third group, with four Death Eaters guarding over them. He wasn’t sure how they thought they’d escape whilst jammed into a box together, but he figured now wasn’t the time to ask.

   The box gave a shudder then lowered into the concrete like he’d seen it do twice before. The thing rumbled and Draco had an irrational fear it would suddenly drop, like when Muggle elevators broke in their televisions or films or whatever they called them. He never liked using those, and he wasn’t feeling so hot about the phone booth either.

   Bellatrix was waiting for them in the Atrium, and Draco’s heart sank as the hall came properly into view. The dark wooden walls were lined with fireplaces sill merrily crackling away, however all the witches and wizards attempting to go in, out or past the mantles were frozen stiff, just like the students of Hogwarts. Almost as if on cue, a pair of Wranglers flew overhead as they stepped from the telephone box, making Sarah shudder visibly beside Draco.

   “He’s not here,” snapped Bellatrix, her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently. The Death Eaters accompanying Draco and Sarah looked scared to speak, but it seemed she was just announcing Harry’s absence rather than expecting an answer, as she said exactly the same thing to the next two groups as well.

   Remus was in the fifth and final group, and when Bellatrix relayed her information he looked quite relieved, which Bellatrix did not take kindly to. “He might still show up here,” he said hastily, clinging onto Tonks as she tried desperately to blink her eyes open and stand on her own two feet. Draco saw her hair had gone from bubblegum pink to a sort of mousey brown, which he couldn’t really find the energy to explain.

   “I want them locked up,” Bellatrix snapped to one of the Death Eaters that seemed to be somewhat more senior than the others. “Put the children in an office and take the adults down to Courtroom Ten.” Without another word she stalked off, boots slamming on the polished oak floor.

   Draco felt a wand stick into his back. “Come on,” said the oafish man who’d been holding Sarah. “This way, no trouble now.”

   Draco looked mournfully back as Remus, Tonks and the still unconscious Sirius were taken in one direction, and himself, Sarah, Hermione and Ron were herded to the lifts. Nobody spoke as they waited for a lift to appear, and Draco got that slightly sick feeling in his stomach again. The lift doors pinged open, and there was more than enough room for them to fit inside. Pleasant sounding music plinked along as the elevator descended.

   Luckily they only went down to the fourth floor, the first being at the top where they started, and once the doors opened they were marched down towards the Department of Goblin Liaison. One of the Death Eaters grabbed the handle of a random office, hauled it open, and shoved each of the students inside. “Be good boys and girls now,” he said mockingly, flashing several gold teeth, then slammed the door shut in Draco’s face.

   He swore. Very loudly.

   “You said it,” grumbled Ron, flopping into one of the seats in front of a particularly messy desk, who’s owner was frozen behind it. He was a balding man with a tie that showed a dragon flying around, breathing bright red cartoon fire. There were several mugs on his desk, all of which looked like they’d been mashed together by small children, and a fat teddy bear hugging a large heart that read ‘Happy Anniversary Pudding!’ Draco scowled and wondered how many innocent people had been hooked up to the Wranglers giant human battery.

   “What are we going to do?” demanded Sarah, her hands balling into fists. “We have to get out of here and rescue Harry! I’m not waiting around for them to come back!”

   Draco rested his head on the office door and sighed. His headache was still there, refusing to go away. Maybe he should try and drink some water. Or fire whisky.

   “Yes,” he said. “I agree on all points.” He raised his throbbing head and turned around to look at their surroundings. “Let’s go over the entire room and look for any possible weak points.”

   “That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” said Hermione huffily, and began rooting around the desk, ignoring the man sitting in the chair. “I can’t believe, they’ve taken the Ministry as well, I just can’t. This is a disaster.”

   “Was it the Wranglers?” asked Draco as he inspected the skirting boards. “Was that how they were able to do it?”

   Hermione made a tsking noise. “I suppose so, they would have had to have been breeding them like crazy, and they’d still need to break all kinds of protective enchantments and get past some of the most highly trained wizards in the country.” She shook her head and sat on her heels. “I just can’t believe it.”

   Draco didn’t have anything to say to that. It was incredibly unlikely, but like Harry said how unlikely had his circumstances been when he’d travelled back to his and Sarah’s universe.

   “My face hurts,” said Ron, prodding his black eye gently. He caught Draco’s eye, and suddenly looked guilty. “Um,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Sorry for hitting you at Sirius’ house, I wasn’t thinking straight.” Draco shrugged; Ron hadn’t managed to land a single punch on his face, and only a few to his torso that had caused minimal bruising. Draco, on the other hand, and caused the mess that Ron Weasley was currently wearing as a face.

   “Do you believe I’m on your side now?”

   Ron sighed. “You’re in here aren’t you. If you were with them you’d be out there, so yeah, I guess so.”

   Draco nodded and didn’t press the matter. That was probably the best he was going to get.

   They searched every inch of the balding man’s office, but unsurprisingly they found nothing of note except a large wardrobe that contained nothing but novelty ties and a goldfish bowl with a piranha humming ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair.’

   Before long an hour had passed and Draco wasn’t sure what to do. As the Ministry was underground, the view from the window behind the balding man was fake; fake skyline, fake sunshine, fake grass. It was tormenting Draco, whispering that there was a way out, but he wasn’t clever enough to think of it.

   “I was supposed to help,” he muttered, finally resting his back against the wall and sliding down to sit on the floor with the others.

   “Hmm?” said Hermione, looking up from the stain on the carpet she’d been staring at for the last five minutes.

Sarah scooted over and sat right next to Draco. Obediently he lifted his arm up so she could duck under for a hug. “I was supposed to help, that’s what I told Harry back at the school.” He rubbed Sarah’s arm and stared bitterly into the middle distance. “I’m in this world apparently because I’m an expert on how to break into Hogwarts, and what’s happened? Hogwarts is still taken, we lost Harry and now we’re stuck in someone’s office waiting for the bad guys to come back.” Sarah shivered against him and he rubbed her arm again. He didn’t want to worry her more than she already was – she’d never spoken about what happened when the Death Eaters had taken her last time, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good.

   “At least you tried,” said Hermione after a while. “It’s...it’s nice to see what Malfoy could be like. It’s a bit of a shock actually.”

   He looked over to her and was surprised to see a hint of a smile. He allowed himself to give one back, before shaking his head. “I’m sure I used to be a lot like your Draco,” he said with a sigh. “I let the Death Eaters in to release the Basilisk, and Harry here goes and bloody kills at the same age. How does that even happen.”

   That had been on his mind ever since it had been discussed back at the castle, but instantly he wished he hadn’t brought it up. Hermione’s face dropped and Ron swung round in his chair.

   “You _let the Basilisk out?”_ he said, stunned. Sarah jolted up away from Draco’s side.

   “No,” she insisted. “That’s not how it happened at all. They had Draco’s mum hostage, they made him do the ritual to let them in, and then _You-Know-Who_ let the Basilisk out.”

   “They set it on the students?” clarified Hermione. Draco felt wretched, he really didn’t want to talk about the darkest moment of his life, particularly not with this alternate Hermione.

   He nodded. “It...” he struggled to find his voice, and when he did it came out thick. “It didn’t know the difference, it killed anybody it looked at it.”

   Ron looked appalled, but Hermione had gone very white. “I saw it in a hand mirror,” she said in a small voice. “That’s how I got Petrified.”

   Draco’s voice abandoned him altogether at that. He felt irrationally guilty for getting Hermione hurt, even though it had been a different Basilisk, a different Hermione, a different world.

   “What happened to it?” asked Ron after a few moments.

   Draco frowned. “What?”

   “The Basilisk? Did it go back under the school? Did Harry kill it again.”

   “Harry?” Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “No I guess he was with Parvati and the others, there’s no way he’d do anything heroic,” he said, trying not to sound too sour. “He’s nothing like your Harry – sorry Sarah.” She shrugged.

   “Fair point.”

   “There’s no way he would have known what to do with a giant snake,” said Draco a little more fairly.  “What the hell did your Harry do for that matter?”

   Ron shrugged. “Pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat, stabbed the snake in the head, rescued my sister then killed the bit of You-Know-Who’s soul that had been hidden in a diary and had been controlling the Basilisk all along.”

   Draco stared at him. “So...he does this hero thing quite a lot then?”

   Hermione and Ron both nodded.

   Draco sighed and leant back against the wall, staring at the wardrobe. “Well, no body killed the Basilisk in my world. They took it to the lair in Germany, and as far as I know Barty Crouch Jr looked after it until the revolution last year. I have no idea what happened after that.”

   “Urgh,” said Ron, then leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and prodded his black eye again.

   Draco though was still staring at the wardrobe. He actually stared at it for a very long time, so much so Sarah practically fell asleep on his side. “Hey guys,” he said eventually, nudging Sarah awake. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

 

***

 

   “You’re talking about the photograph?” asked Harry. He’d taken the family portrait from the Potter’s wall in a moment of madness, a reaction to the disbelief at the situation he had found himself in. That photograph had gone on to save his life when the Dementors had attacked them in Germany, and then somehow found its way back into his own world with him. He’d hidden it away at the back of his photo album and hadn’t had the courage to look at it much, but the thought of giving it back made him sad, almost a little fearful. He had never wanted to forget the Potters, the life he knew they were living somewhere out in the cosmos.

   “The photograph?” repeated Alex. “Oh come on Harry, you started out with the excellent questions, where did they go? The photograph? A photograph would hardly threaten the existence of the Multiverse now would it?”

   Harry stared back at him and couldn’t help but shiver yet again as an evening breeze went through him. It was particularly windy up there on Stonehenge. “Multiverse?”

“Yes,” said Alex waggling a finger. He seemed not to care one jot that Harry still had his wand trained on him, but it didn’t make him put it down. “As in more than one universe, as you well know, millions, trillions.” He shrugged. “I don’t actually know how many there are anymore, I lost count during the War of the Roses.” He too then shivered, despite having far many more layers of clothing on than Harry. “Goodness it is a bit chilly, shall we relocate ourselves somewhere a little more comfy?”

   Harry looked around at the grass and the stones and traffic speeding along on the busy road a few hundred meters away. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked instead of replying to Alex’s request. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go anywhere with this strange man. “They’re aren’t even any fireplaces.”

   “Ah!” he said, waving his hands around. “Another excellent question, well done. You are quite right, there are no longer any fireplaces, but years and years and years ago this used to be a meeting point, like the very first Floo hub. All that transient energy makes reality a bit thin around here too, why the Pagans liked it so much I guess, so that’s why you can see me – very handy when you want to have a conversation with someone.” He beamed at Harry. “I was able to channel that energy and pluck you out here, which believe me is much better than being plucked out at the Ministry, there’s bad stuff happening there, very bad stuff.” His face had grown dark, and Harry waited a moment before opening his mouth again.

   “The Ministry?”

   “Yes,” piped up Alex, cheery again. “The biggest hub in Britain, chances are you would have tumbled out there and that’s not a good place to be right now.”

   “Why not?” Harry asked uneasily, thinking of Hogwarts and all its frozen students.

   “Really, I do think we should go somewhere more comfortable Harry, we have a lot to discuss.”

   Harry considered him a moment, then sighed and finally lower his wand. His arm had been starting to hurt anyway.   “How do I know I can trust you though?” he asked bluntly.

   Alex regarded him and cocked his head. “Because the fate of the Multiverse depends on it. Are you really willing to risk that?”

   Harry felt very small and helpless. Here he was again being forced into a situation with immense pressure on his head. “Okay,” he said in a small voice.

   “Wonderful,” said Alex warmly, and put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. They walked around behind the pillar of stone that Alex had originally appeared behind, and Harry felt his ears pop and his stomach drop. He blinked instinctively, and was shocked to see he was no longer at Stonehenge, but in a wooden entrance hall with torches blazing on the walls and plush rugs lining the floors.

   “Marvellous,” announced Alex, slamming the front door closed, a huge thing made of dark wood and lacquered to shining brilliance. From the paler beams that held the walls and ceiling up hung a wrought iron chandelier with dozens of candles burning merrily away.

   “This way, this way,” instructed Alex, practically skipping through the open entranceway on their right. It was a room lined on one wall with a giant stone fireplace, a blaze crackling quietly away, barely higher than the simmering coals. There was a low but wide coffee table in front of the fire by a squishy looking sofa that was absolutely covered in food that looked like it was intended for a children’s party; plates of triangled sandwiches, bowls of crisps and trays of biscuits, cheese and pineapple on sticks and even a couple of jellies wobbling on dishes.

   “I do hope you’re hungry,” he said, shrugging off his tailcoat. “I never get to have visitors round so I put on a bit of a spread. Something to drink? I have squash, tea or absinthe.”

   “Erm,” said Harry, looking about the room distractedly. “Tea please, two sugars – who are they?”

   He was looking at the wall to the left of the fireplace which was covered with mismatching photo frames, all different sizes and colours. Each one contained a different portrait, some photos, most were paintings, of men and women in what looked to be their twenties and thirties. They were of all kinds of different races and nationalities as far as Harry could see. When Alex had entered the room several had waved shyly or enthusiastically, some had blown kisses. One was now doing something rather rude with her tongue.

   “Friends,” explained Alex, leaping over and flipping the provocative lady over with a slam. “Old friends, naughty friends, friends who will-” he raised his voice “-end up in the attic if they don’t behave!”

   Harry felt a bit embarrassed, as by the look of it so did Alex. “Two sugars was it?” he asked. Harry nodded and Alex darted off, perhaps to his kitchen to make tea. Harry sat himself down on the sofa and eyed up the food in front of him. He was surprisingly hungry after everything that had happened that afternoon, but didn’t know if he should dare eat anything.

   “Dig in, dig in,” called Alex as he came back in with a cup of tea in each hand. “I made it all myself, sandwiches are my speciality.” He plonked down Harry’s teacup on the table in front of him, then dropped himself into the armchair at the end of the table. The photos were now on Harry’s left, so he turned his back to them to look at Alex instead. They made him feel like he was intruding on something personal.

   “That’s a lot of food,” Harry said, then felt a little rude. His friends were in trouble and the so-called ‘Multiverse’ was at stake, and he was intimidated by a few sandwiches? If he was honest, he was intimidated by the whole situation, but he didn’t understand what that really entailed, so was focusing on the cheese and pineapple instead.

   “Well,” said Alex, a little reserved. “I’d planned on it being three of us, but we decided that might get a little...tricky.” He clapped his hands together. “So it’s just the two of us, I hope that’s alright?”

   Harry felt awkward again. “Yeah, of course,” he said. He picked up his cup, and ornate china one with a chip in the floral pattern at the top. “Thanks,” he said before taking a sip. He didn’t feel right drinking tea in a nice living room with his friends in trouble, but it was all so strange he felt like he should just let it play out for a moment or two longer.

   “No problem, no problem,” said Alex with a flick of his hand. He leant forward to grab a pink party ring and began munching. “So you had questions didn’t you, several very good ones, why don’t you ask them again?”

   Harry figured if Alex was eating the food it might be okay, so reached forward and plucked a sandwich from one of the piles. Raspberry jam and peanut butter, which he couldn’t ignore once he’d seen it. “What’s happened to the Ministry?” He figured that was a simpler one to start with.

   The answer was exactly what he’d feared. “The same thing that you saw happen to your school I’m afraid,” said Alex heavily. “You’re friends have been brought there, so I imagine you’ll want me to drop you back their when we’re done.”

   The peanut butter stuck in Harry’s throat. “Are they okay?” he asked, feeling incredibly guilty for sitting enjoying peanut butter when his friends were in danger.

   Alex waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes they’re fine. Don’t worry, time’s a little bit more lenient here, I can deliver you up not long after you left.”

   Harry frowned and finished his sandwich. He wasn’t sure he understood but Alex sounded confident enough.

   “How can they be okay?” he asked. “I left them with Death Eaters, I thought they might be dead?”

   Alex frowned and leant back over the arm of his chair. There was a spherical fish bowl half filled with strips of paper on a pedestal. They were maybe an inch long each and a third of that wide. He grabbed at a handful and started glancing at them, discarding them to the floor as soon as his eyes had set upon them. “Nope,” he said confidently. “All fine, I assure you.” He smiled at Harry as he flicked away the last one and brushed his fingers together.

   Harry felt like his answer was definitive, even if he didn’t understand it, but he figured the quicker he moved the conversation forward the quicker he could get back to his friends. “What else could I have from the other universe?” he asked, taking another sip of tea to wash away the jam. “All I have is the photograph.”

   Alex drummed his fingers on his teacup, his eyes never leaving Harry. “Are you sure?”

   Harry frowned as he considered it. If he did have something else, he’d had absolutely no idea for the past ten months.

   “Let me put it another way,” said Alex, offering Harry the plate of biscuits and not taking it away until he’d had taken a custard cream. “When you travelled to the other universe in the first place, what did you bring with you?”

   “My wand,” said Harry straight away. He knew that was true, even before his and Voldemort’s wands had connected in the Priori Incantatem.

   Alex nodded. “Yes correct, good start, what else?” Harry looked at him, confused.

   “Well...I don’t think there was anything else. It was the other Harry’s body, his clothes, his family.” He thought back hard. “I mean, I think I still had my scar, you couldn’t see it until I defeated Voldemort in that room with Sarah, but I felt it was there-”

   Alex sloshed his tea on the table as he slammed the delicate looking cup down. “Bingo!” he cried. “Ten points for Gryffindor! What else happened when you were fighting Mr Big-Bad-Snake?”

   In response, Harry rubbed his scar. “Well, I could still speak Parseltongue.”

   Alex actually punched the air. “Terrific!” He wiggled his fingers in happiness and selected a sandwich to take a bite of. His face dissolved into disgust however and he spat the bread and filling back out into his hand. “Blugh, marzipan, I hate marzipan.” He dropped the half eaten bits of sandwich into his empty teacup, brushed his hands clean, and looked back at Harry.

   “Why do you have the scar, and why would you feel it even when there was no physical mark?”

   Harry shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t really like discussing this, it made him feel contaminated. “Dumbledore said, he said that we’re sort of connected. When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, he sort of...” He took a deep breath. “Left a part of him inside me.”

   Alex looked at him, still as a stone. “So what do you think happened when the other Voldemort tried to kill you in the other world?”

   Harry didn’t move. It felt as if all the air was slowly being taken out of the room as his vision started to swirl. “No...” he said, but Alex gave him no answer. “No, I can’t, are...are you telling me I have something from _two_ different Voldemorts in me!”

   He jumped to his feet, whole body shaking, sandwich and tea threatening to come back up again. But it made sense, he knew it made sense. He dropped to his hands and knees as the world seemed to lurch violently. Dumbledore had said it was a bit of his soul, that’s why he could speak Parseltongue and control the Basilisk and talk to any other snakes he’d met. The scar throbbed when he was near because that was _a part of him._

   “Harry,” said Alex kindly but urgently. Harry hadn’t seen him drop to the carpet beside him but he felt his arm on his back. “Harry it’s okay. You’re right, that’s what I’m talking about, you have a part, a very small part but a part none the less, of that other Voldemort. But what I’m also trying to tell you is it can’t stay, it cannot remain in your universe and I’ve got something to give you to help fix it.”

   Harry managed to take a proper breath and look up. His glasses had practically fallen off so he shoved them up again to see. “You can get it out of me?”

   “Yes,” replied Alex sincerely. “It’s not meant to be there Harry, it’s endangering the Multiverse and that’s why I had to see you.” He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t necessarily the first time something like this has happened, but it still doesn’t make it run of the mill.” He scratched through his hair, mussing up his highlights. “I’ve got something to give you that will draw it out, it’ll solve the problem, I promise.”

   Harry felt calm enough again, and even a little ashamed at his reaction. He rocked back and sat with his knees up on the floor. “What is it?”

   Alex did a backwards roll with a flourish and knelt up to fetch something out of a box on a maple cabinet. He produced a fine silver chain with a pendant on the end. He leant forwards and dropped it into Harry’s hand. The pendent was a haphazard cocoon of threaded silver, and inside a purple stone hung, not suspended by anything, just floating all by itself.

   “It’s an amulet,” said Alex. “Well that’s what I’d call it anyway, necklace doesn’t seem manly enough for a chap like you.”

   “And this will get rid of the other bit of the other Voldemort?” asked Harry a little sceptically.

   But Alex nodded. “You’ll need to wear it from now on, it can come off when the time is right, but you’ll know that all by yourself don’t worry. For now though, keep it on.”

   Harry looked at it for a moment before putting it on. The metal was cold on his neck, and he held the pendant out in his hand to carry on looking at it. “Will it get rid of the other bit of Voldemort,” he asked, his voice small. “The one I had before.”

   “No Harry,” said Alex, reaching up and taking a cocktail stick of cheese and pineapple. “That bit belongs with you, the other soul doesn’t.”

   Harry thought about that, and supposed he didn’t mind. That part of him – the scar, he preferred to think of it as, not the soul – that part had saved him and Sarah, it had saved Ginny Weasley from the Basilisk. It was a part of him now more than Voldemort.

   “Okay,” he said, nodding. He hoisted himself back onto the sofa, still staring at the purple stone. He thought it sort of pulsed in his hand, but he could have just been imagining it.

   “So,” he said after a while, as Alex reached for his third cocktail stick and munched it still sat on the floor. “If this is such a massive problem for the universe, the Multiverse, does that mean you have to go and give a bunch of necklaces to hundreds of others Harrys?

   Alex swallowed the cheese and pineapple and sucked his teeth clean. “Another splendid question,” he said, but this time he was not excited, he sounded more sombre. Harry decided it would be best to wait for his answer rather than prompt. “The thing about universe crossing,” said Alex after a while, wrapping his arms around his knees, lacing his fingers together and staring at the fire in the mantle. “Is it hardly ever happens. When it does, it is so unbelievably unlikely, it sort of sucks all the energy from the other possibilities into it.”

   He looked up at Harry. “You are the only Harry that made the Dimensional Leap, there are no others.”

   Harry clutched at the necklace and tried to blink the head rush away. “What...” he stammered. “But, the other Hermione said every possibility that could happen, does happen, there’s a universe for everything.”

   “And normally she would be completely correct,” said Alex, and Harry might have normally been impressed. Hermione had really guessed the answer to his dilemma last November apparently. But what Alex was saying was too much. “But the crossing counteracts that,” he carried on. “What happened to you was the only way it happened, there is no world where you refused to go with Draco or Seamus never died. And consequently there is only one reality, this reality, where Draco and your sister Sarah made the jump back. Your two worlds are on a singular path, and will be for a very long time.”

   Harry felt numb. Having accepted alternate realities were real, it was frightening to think what he’d done had somehow stopped that. “When will our worlds start having other possibilities again then?”

   Alex shrugged and carefully picked another sandwich. He inspected the contents before taking a bite. “Ah, spinach,” he said, relieved. “It’s like,” he said, helping himself to a mouthful. “Ripples in a pond. I don’t know if you realise, but the realities closest to your own are the ones where single changes have happened in the not too distant past. You were specifically reaching out for a world where Sirius had never been punished for Pettigrew’s crime, but your neighbours are the ones where you chose different subjects for your NEWTs, or actually realised Ginny Weasley was in love with you and asked her out.”

   Harry opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Alex ploughed on. “Therefore, once you move far enough away from the events surrounding the Dimensional Leaps, the neighbouring realities, the closest possibilities will start happening again.” He finished his sandwich and frowned. “Actually, it might help to think about it as a branch of a tree. It has to grow out some way before it can start to produce its own little branches again.”

   Harry stared back at the pendant again and considered everything. It was a lot to take in. “But, you’ll look after it, won’t you, all the different realities. You’ll make sure they stay in check once they start happening.”

   Alex actually laughed as he stood up and brushed the crumbs from his lap. “Heavens no Harry, they’ll get their own Watchers, people taken from those timelines to guard over them.” He reached down and offered Harry his hand, which he took and found himself pulled to his feet.

   “Taken?” Harry repeated.

   Alex shrugged. “Normally people that die in the creation of those new time lines, they’re the most potent Watchers.” He said it so nonchalantly, but Harry couldn’t help but feel a jolt through him. Watchers came about through their deaths’ creating new universes?

   Alex just carried on though, as if this was a frightfully dull concept to him. “I watch over the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, in your reality only, which if you think about it is currently about sixty million people so it’s enough to contend with.”

   “So, other Watchers look after different countries?” Harry asked, curious, as they walked to the front door. Hermione would be fascinated by this, and that dampened his morbid thoughts a little. 

   “Yes,” said Alex proudly. “Although we got into a bit of logistical trouble with the British Empire and the Commonwealth and all that, trying to work out who’s responsibility was what and then everything with the independences and all that. I had to take most of the seventies off to recover from that mess.”

   He smiled and rested his hand on the front door handle. “I’m sorry our time has been so short,” he told Harry, resting the other hand on his shoulder. “But I can only borrow you for a little while. Remember, just keep the amulet on and everything will sort itself out.”

   Harry nodded and slipped the pendent underneath his t-shirt. “Erm...” he said, awkwardly. “Well thanks for the tea.”

   “No trouble, no trouble at all,” replied Alex, turning the handle and flinging the door open. Harry felt his stomach drop out through his shoes. “We’d best be getting you to Whitehall now, hadn’t we. You’re friends are very worried about you.”

   Harry gawped at what lay outside the door. It was only now did he realise all the windows had had nets or curtains drawn across them, and it had just looked a bit dark from what Harry had seen.

   From what he saw now, it seemed as if Alex’s house was hanging in the middle of space.

   Infinite stars twinkled in every direction, including down directly below his feet, which made Harry balk. “I...I have to go out there?” he clarified.

   Alex patted him on the back. “Nothing to worry about,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll send you as close to them as possible, you’ll want to use the visitor’s entrance I imagine.”

   Harry looked out helplessly. “I guess so.” He edged closer to the doorstep. “Will I ever see you again?” he asked, turning back to face the Watcher. “Can you help me some more?”

   Alex cocked his head. “Perhaps,” he said contemplating. “But if all goes to plan I should really rather hope not.”

   Harry nodded. He thought he’d prefer it if the universe stayed in line too.

   “Just step outside and I’ll have you back in a jiffy,” said Alex with a smile.

   So Harry turned around, and without another moment’s pause, stepped out into the vastness of the cosmos.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex had quite a lot to say there, if you're not sure about anything please feel free to ask any questions, or equally if you want to air some theories about what's going to happen next, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	6. The Great Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You heard him. He’s Draco Malfoy, and we’re his mates, so you’d better do what he says or he’ll tell his dad.” Ron Weasley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all going wrong at the Ministry...

Chapter Five -

   The Great Below

 

Ocean pulls me close

And whispers in my ear

The destiny I've chose

All becoming clear

The currents have their say

The time is drawing near

Washes me away

Makes me disappear

 

And I descend from grace

In arms of undertow

I will take my place

In the great below

 

Nine Inch Nails

 

   Draco’s leg was really starting to hurt now. Whatever Seamus had done to it was wearing off and the tourniquet Hermione had made was only stopping the blood flow; if anything it made was making the pain worse. Every move he made sent agony shooting out like lightning in all directions.

   He glanced at his companion in the shadowy light. Hermione was sat, barely visible, staring out at the melee where Blaise had just run back into. She was still clutching the small sword Blaise had given her from McNair, who no longer had a need for it now she had tied his hands and feet together and dragged him back into the fight so he couldn’t give Draco’s location away. He imagined there would be a fair few still loyal to The Dark Lord who would happily finished off what the wooden spear had started.

   He couldn’t believe he’d really done it. He’d faced up to Voldemort and his father, and now the rebellion had begun. And there were so may _people._ He’d had no idea _Freiheit_ had so many members; he wondered how many Blaise had recruited herself, the last he’d heard that’s what she’d been doing. He felt very proud of her.

   He flinched back against the wall as someone with a cricket bat forced someone with a dagger across the patch of light in front of their hiding place behind the large stone pillar. The cricket bat was winning, Draco was happy to see, as its owner was a member of _Freiheit._ Hermione gasped and tried to make herself even smaller.

“It’s alright,” said Draco as the dueling pair moved away from them. “It’s okay, no one can see us here.”

   “Unless someone actually walks around the pillar, then we’re sitting ducks.”

   He gritted his teeth as the hole in his leg spasmed again. “Yeah,” he conceded, resting his head against the cool, stone wall. “Then we’re in big trouble.”

   She looked over at him anxiously. “How’s the leg?”

   “Oh,” he said, trying his hardest to smile. “Absolutely fine, just a scratch.”

   She gave him a nervous smile, flicked her eyes out to the battle, then back to him. It was the noise that was the worst. Steal on steal, steal on squelchy things. People screaming.

   “Thank you, again,” she said, biting her lip. “You saved my life.”

   He looked at her, her matted hair and grubby face. The Muggle school uniform and the blood stained sword. He’d thought he had known everything about Hermione Granger; Blaise and he used to quiz each other about all the Muggle-born witches and wizards, he knew her birthday, her parents’ names, her address, her potential skills and weaknesses in order of importance.

   But he would never of guessed how her voice sounded.

   “It was the least I could do,” he said, looking away from her, massaging the cramping leg muscles instead. “I should never have called you that disgusting word, I was exhausted and expecting a fight with Potter. Harry.” It felt weird calling him that, but three years had changed him in so many ways Draco thought he was almost a different person.

   “Still,” she said, twirling the short sword between her hands. “Thanks. I’d rather be alive and have you call me a name.”

   “I won’t ever call you it again,” he said, with such sincerity he instantly felt flustered. “Y’know,” he added, “if we don’t die a bloody, gruesome death in here.”

   Well done, he told himself. Very smooth.

   She just nodded and looked back out into the light, biting her lip. He grimaced as his leg flared with pain again.

   “You had us worried there, with that double crossing stuff,” said Hermione. He moved to look at her but what little of her face that was visible in the shadows was turned to the floor. “Did you have that planned all along?”

   Draco massaged his leg again, but his hand came away slick with blood making his stomach roll, so he decided to stop. “Sort of,” he said. “It was Snape’s idea, the guy who was talking with The Dark-” He faltered. “You-Know-Who.” He would have to stop calling him that if he was going to prove he wasn’t a Death Eater any more. “But we didn’t think it would happen tonight, I was still hoping we’d be able to sneak in. Right up until the moment the we entered the room filled with all the Death Eaters on the planet.” He waited until a wave of dizziness passed. “I had to improvise.”

   She smiled, or so he thought. “I’m glad you’re on our side after all, I would have been very cross if you’d been lying.”

   The notion that she would have been ‘very cross’ was so absurd that Draco began laughing, quietly at first, but then his sides were aching at the effort of keeping himself together. “What?” asked Hermione, but Draco couldn’t do anything but pinch the bridge of his nose and try desperately to get a grip. He supposed this was hysteria, all the pain and exhaustion pooling together at one incredibly inappropriate moment. “What!” hissed Hermione with a grin, nudging his shoulder.

   The jolt of pain from his leg succeeded in breaking his giggling fit, but after he regained himself he was still smiling. “I just like the way you phrase things.”

   She instantly drew her hand away and looked hurt, and Draco found himself tripping over to explain.

   “No, I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear, I just...I’ve spent so long with people hating me, even wanting me dead. It, it just really amused me to think you’d give me a good telling off. I don’t know.”

   After a moment he managed to get a smile back from her, and he was surprised how relieved it made him feel.

   She stared out into the battle for some time, cringing away whenever anybody got too close. He figured the conversation was over, but after a while she piped up again.

   “Don’t people know they had your mother, that you had no choice but to help attack the school?”

   Draco felt a wave of coldness run through him, and it was his turn to pull away from her. He looked down at his leg and focused on the throbbing, letting it fill his mind.

   “I’m sorry,” she said after a few minutes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” She seemed to think for a while. “It just seems so unfair if people don’t know the truth.”

   Draco lifted his head to find her looking at him. Was she defending him? Her, Hermione Granger? He blinked and thought about all the thousands of ways his day could have ended when he started out for Potter’s house this morning; he would never, ever have guess this girl’s sympathy would be one of them.

   He made himself exhale and pull a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Life’s not fair I guess. So,” he said, keen to change the subject. “How how much do you know about Harry?” Maybe she could shed some light on his dramatic change of character. He was fascinated to know what had happened in the last three years to effect such a change.

   But she barked a laugh, then immediately slammed a hand over her mouth in horror. However after a few moments of waiting, it was clear nobody in the battle had heard her. “I’ve known Harry about,” she checked her watch. “Nine hours.”

   Draco shook his head. “That’s insane,” he said.

   She squinted at the watch. “Sorry, no, make that eight hours and thirty seven minutes.”

   “I thought that’s what you meant,” he said. “Back in the tunnel. But I really don’t get why did you come with him here? Parvati and Seamus are his best friends, idiots, but at least that makes sense – why would you _do_ this to yourself?”

   She tugged at her hair, pulling a face at the tangled mess she found her hand stuck in.   “It’s...complicated,” she said eventually. “He knows me a lot more than I know him – he told me who I really am, put an end to all those years of suffering. I wanted to help him back...this was a little more extreme than I had in mind though I’ll admit.”

   Draco wasn’t sure what to say, so leant back against the wall and resisted the urge to shut his eyes. Even with everything going on he still felt sleepy – he couldn’t remember the last lime he’d had a proper night’s rest.

   “He....seems different from when we were at school together,” he said after a while.

   “Harry?” asked Hermione and he nodded. “Hmm,” she replied. “In what way?”

   Draco thought about it over the clang of swords. “He could pass for a decent human being now.”

   Hermione smiled. “He does seem nice,” she said.

   Draco nodded. “You’ll be alright with Potter as your friend,” he said. He always looked after his own, regardless of everything else.

   Hermione suddenly leant forward, staring down the corridor that led off from the auditorium. “I think...” she said slowly. “I think he’s coming back.”

 

***

 

   Stepping out into space hadn’t been as terrifying as Harry might have thought it would be. What was pretty frightening was where he ended up.

   His feet were on solid ground, but all around him was practically pitch black and the air was whooshing and whining around him. He thought he could hear rumbling as well, and he was sure it was coming nearer.

   _“Lumos!”_ he cried, and his wand lit up, flooding his surroundings with a pale white glow. He breathed in and out, trying not to panic, then tried to stop inhaling so much as the air was so thick with dust. He was on a dramatically shortened underground tube platform, the rest of it having been bricked up a very long time ago. Mice were scurrying away from his sudden light, escaping down onto the rusty looking train track.

   The breeze was coming from a corridor that led off the mini platform, but it was sealed off by a metal door frame with thick chain links, a rusting sign that Harry could only see the back of and a massive, equally rusty padlock.

   _“Alohomora,”_ Harry said, prodding his wand at the lock. Thankfully it fell away with a clang, and Harry was able to edge along the small corridor, ending up in a larger one with even more dust.

   From what he could tell, he must have been in an abandoned tube station. Here and there he could see cream and burgundy tiles that reminded him of other stations he’d been to, the rest were painted over grey, and junk was lying everywhere, almost all of it unrecognizable from the inches of dust masking it. Thick clumps swirled everywhere as he tried to decide which way to go, making him cough.

   “Oh Alex,” he moaned, shining his wand on a sign painted into the tiles that said ‘No Exit’. “Where the Hell have you sent me?”

   There were noises. Strange sounds that echoed up and down the half bricked up corridors and vibrated around make-shift rooms. Harry guessed the rumbling sensation was tube trains on nearby lines speeding past to other stations. He wondered how long it had been since this one had been a working station? Things clanged and the wind howled, plastic sheets rustled and something, somewhere was dripping.

   Harry shivered.

   Alex said he would send him as close as he could to the Ministry of Magic, which Harry knew from Ron’s family was in a part of London called Whitehall. Was this the Ministry’s basement? he thought. Did they used to have a tube connection? He didn’t even know where Whitehall was in the capital, he didn’t have the foggiest. Even if he found out where he was, he wouldn’t know how to get to the Ministry. He’d been hoping Alex would send him right to the front door.

   He found a patch of writing in white chalk, barely visible under all the dust, that said in a very neat hand ‘Welcome to the Burrow.’ Harry stared at it a long time, wondering if it was just a coincidence that that was what the Weasleys’ house was called. He eventually decided it must have been, and pulled himself away.

   He came upon rooms that looked like they had once been used for something other than running a tube station; one in particular had a dilapidated desk sagging under the weight of the dust, and a wall made up of switches and cables plugged into circular sockets. Another looked like it once might have been a kitchen, and there were faint signs everywhere that read ‘To Offices’ and ‘To Enquires and Committee Room’.

   Harry became more and more convinced this place had definitely been used for some sort of meeting place after it had closed as a station, but he wasn’t sure what and pondering on it wasn’t helping him get out of it. He just kept asking himself why Alex would send him here. Maybe it was an accident?

   Just to confuse him, there were plenty of more modern looking signs as well, bright yellow ones encouraging people to wear hard hats, rather unhelpful black and white ‘No Exit’ ones, and even a white one with a purple line at the top informing him that it was left to get to the Eastbound line. However when Harry tried heading that way he just found himself at the end of yet another bricked up corridor. Maybe there was a time, perhaps when it was a meeting place, that people really didn’t want anything else getting in here. Or out.

   He started to panic that maybe he was stuck here. He wasn’t old enough to apparate and nobody expect Alex knew he was down here; somehow he didn’t think he’d be able to convince an owl to deliver an SOS into outer space.

   Once again he found himself cursing Alex. All he’d done was pull him away from the friends who needed him, overloaded him with information about the multiverse, then dropped him off who knew where with no clue how to get out. He curled up his fists as another coughing fit took over, and he tried to use his sleeve as a filter to stop so much dust getting into his lungs.

   Maybe he could send out his Patronus? He’d seen other people do it, they even relayed messages. It could bring someone back to try and help him out of whatever building he was now trapped in. But even if he could work out how to make his stag talk, who would he send it to? All his friends had undoubtedly been taken prisoner by Bellatrix, everyone at the school was frozen solid, and the only family he had were the Dursleys, who would almost certainly attack a ghostly looking stag with the vacuum cleaner.

   There was nothing for it, he was just going to have to find his own way out. Surely if Alex was a Watcher, he’d be watching right now and he wouldn’t just leave Harry down here to starve to death. So logically there must be an exit hidden somewhere, he just hadn’t found it yet. The thought spurred him on.

   Another train shot past, making Harry jump. Sometimes he could see glimpses of movement from the trains on the other lines, but at times like this he saw nothing and it felt as if the trains were sneaking up behind him. He shuddered and began walking again once the shaking had stopped.

   He found himself in an extra wide, circular corridor that seemed as wide as normal tube tunnel. What was even better though, was that he spied a box that looked like it could have held fuses, or even switches. He yanked the rusty door open, and saw a lever that read ‘Mains’. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself as he heaved the switch upright.

   Dozens of light bulbs sprung to life. Harry actually cried out in joy, and then a second time as he realised the corridor ended in a metal staircase. A staircase that was going up.

   Up had to be good, he thought as he bombed down the corridor and stared up at the stairs. It spiralled up over a dozen flights, but the metal looked new and the lights here were even more frequent. Another train rumbled by impossibly loudly, playing with the air pressure and hurting Harry’s ears; it seemed like his cue to leave.

   He took the steps two at a time, the metal clanging has his trainers slammed down. He wasn’t sure how long he went up for, but after five minutes his thighs were cramping. Finally the spiral stairs ended in a straight set of steps, and at the end of those he could see a modern day fire escape.

   He whooped and actually punched the air, causing a cloud of dust to fall gently from his clothes. He ran up the last of the stairs and slammed into the release bar.

   He burst out into the evening air, gulping it down as several passersby gave him strange looks. He hastily put his wand away, then shook himself like a dog, producing an even larger cloud of dust, and wiped his glasses on the underneath of his t-shirt so he could see clearly again. He pushed the fire escape closed, locking it from the outside, and stared up at the blood red bricks of the building he had just vacated.

   A news agents had taken up part of the building under its middle archway, but the rest of it was clearly the remains of a tube entrance. Harry turned and looked for a street name. He had to walk to the end of the road to find one: Down Street.

   He peered at the four story building that stood above him. It looked like he was in London, he was sure of it. That was a small victory in itself, but now he had to work out exactly where Down Street was.

   And how on Earth he found his way to Whitehall from there.

 

***

 

   Sarah shuffled the playing cards nervously as she sucked on a large chunk of Honeydukes’ Mint and Butterscotch chocolate. The cards were battered and some looked like they’d been chewed, and on the front were famous Quidditch players from the eighties. She recognised Uma Snattlelott from Puddlemere United, as her dad still had a poster of her up in his study that he refused to take down, no matter how much her mum had nagged him.

   She really hoped the frozen man at the desk wouldn’t mind her borrowing his cards and eating his chocolate. She’d promised him she would buy him two bars to replace it, but of course he’d said nothing back. She flipped over another card and assessed her game of patience on the office floor, a colony of butterflies flapping about in her stomach.

   This had been her idea, she’d argued with Draco until she was blue in the face. She was the youngest and the smallest and knew the least magic, it would make sense that they’d leave her behind. But now as she looked around the empty office with only her Quidditch players for company, she wondered if it was such a good idea. Not that they had their wands anyway, but she did have a far inferior knowledge of spells (something Hermione kept pointing out, much to her annoyance) and she was starting to feel quite vulnerable.

   Just stick to the plan, she said, slapping over another card. All you have to do is wait, you can do that can’t you? You’re not a baby, they’re counting on you to do this. Suddenly, there was a noise outside the door, and Sarah almost dropped the playing cards in her hands. This was what she’d been waiting for, but her heart was thudding so hard against her ribcage she worried whoever was outside might hear it. “You can do this,” she whispered to herself, forcing her hand to place down another card, trying her best not to shake. “Just breathe.”

   The office door opened, and the brute of a man who’d picked her off the floor in Sirius’ kitchen stood on the other side, a tray of food in one of his massive hands. It took him a moment to look around the room. He stepped inside, then looked behind the door.

   “Where are they?” he asked in disbelief.

   Sarah smacked another card onto the carpet. “They _left_ me,” she snapped, not looking up, overturning another card without thinking about it and plonking it wherever she felt like. Winning the game was definitely not her priority at that moment in time. “They said I would _slow them down._ Ooh,” she cried, jumping to her feet and eying up the tray. “Is that mashed potato? I’m starving.”

   The brute took the tray and smashed it into the floor with a roar, causing Sarah to cower back and scatter the cards everywhere. “Where ARE they!” he bellowed. Sarah tried to keep breathing, reminding herself that she’d expected this, of course he was going to be mad. She just had to play up her innocence.

   “I don’t KNOW!” she yelled back, tears springing easily to her eyes. “They wouldn’t take me, they said I didn’t know enough magic, that when they got their wands back they’d come get me but I don’t BELIEVE THEM!”

He crossed the distance between them in two strides, and seized her shoulders, giving her a shake. “You filthy little liar,” he growled. “You tell me where they went and how they got out right now!”

   She really did begin crying then, it wasn’t hard. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I’m too young, please don’t hurt me, please!”

   The Death Eater glared at her as she sniffed. She really wanted to jab her fingers in his beady eyes, but she resisted. It would be better for now to just be scared, fighting back could come later.

   “Fine,” he snarled, grinding his teeth. “You can come with me then, and you can explain how they got out, and you’d better work out where they’ve gone pretty quickly, or my master will be very, very unhappy.”

   And with that, he half led, half dragged Sarah Potter from the office without a second look.

   He especially didn’t look at the big wardrobe, the one with all the balding man’s novelty ties.

   And he certainly didn’t hear it swing open the moment he and Sarah left the room.

 

***

 

   Harry had decided to cut to the chase and ask in the news agents under the old tube station arches how far away he was from Whitehall. The middle-aged Sikh man behind the till must have felt quite sorry for him, because not only did he explain twice in broken English how close they were, and three times exactly how to get there, but he also insisted Harry take a free bar of chocolate and a packet of wet wipes to get all the dust off himself. Apart from being reunited with his long lost friend and sister, this was undoubtedly the highlight of Harry’s day so far.

   Looking less like the survivor of a bomb blast and finishing the last of his Muggle chocolate, he traipsed across Green Park, using his wand to keep him heading in the right direction. Dusk was well and truly setting on the edges of the horizon, starting to throw far stretching shadows from the trees and buildings on the edges of the park. To his right he could see the very top of Buckingham Palace, and wondered absent-mindedly if the flag being halfway down meant the Queen was in or not.

   It wasn’t long before he came to the end of the park and could see the palace in all its glory. But he turned his back to it and began making his way along a very wide road lined with trees. It felt like a very peaceful Sunday evening, and Harry let himself enjoy it, even if he knew it was only an illusion, even though he knew chaos and mayhem were waiting for him again just around the corner. For now he pretended he was just another tourist with a fancy camera and a guide book written in a foreign language.

   He thought it a bad idea to keep his wand out whilst he was walking down the street, but when he got to the end with the large roundabout – just like the news agent said he would – he snuck it out again and whispered ‘point me’ to it. It spun round to the right and stayed there, quivering, so Harry pocketed it and headed off, looking round for any likely looking buildings.

   He walked until he got to Westminster Bridge and realised that was where Whitehall came to an end, so, feeling a little uneasy walked back up again. Halfway down his third inspection of the road, despite it being busy, he pulled out his wand again, asking for directions. It told him to go back up to the roundabout which confused him, but he did as he was told, keeping the wand up his sleeve to keep checking his progress. As he was starting to feel a bit despairing as he approached the roundabout again, the wand told him he’d gone too far. He breathed out a sigh of relief; that meant it had to be between where he stood now and the last place he checked his progress, which was only twenty or so meters back.

   A woman with red dreadlocks eyed him suspiciously as he lost all regard for pretence and walked along with his wand sat in his hand. But it was worth it, as he walked by a smaller alleyway and it suddenly turned a sharp left. “Here?” he asked it, looking uncertainly down the narrow street filled with nothing but old newspapers and a red telephone box covered in graffiti. There was a few offices that were well and truly shut, and a pub that looking like it hadn’t seen customer for years. Unsurprisingly, the wand did not reply, so he had no choice but to wander down the alley, inspecting everything to see if it looked like the visitors entrance to the Ministry of magic. It didn’t.

   He mooched back onto Whitehall, dejected. He must be missing something, he guessed the entrance must be hidden so that Muggles didn’t accidently find it, but he was running out of time. Anything could be happening to his friends, Alex had said the same thing that had happened to the school had happened to the Ministry. But how? he thought, frustrated as he stared at a group students taking photos of themselves with Big Ben in the background. How could they have possibly overrun the school _and_ the Ministry?

   He glance back up towards the big roundabout, and then a second later his stomach convulsed as he realised what he’d just seen. Two grim-faced looking men were walking towards him, one wore flowery welly boots and a kimono, the other sandals, a kilt and a plastic poncho. Being London, most people just raised their eyebrows, nudged their friends to look, or just ignored them completely. But Harry had a much better idea of who these two were.

   Wizards, trying to dress as Muggles. And knowing his luck he guessed he knew exactly what kind of wizards. He dropped as casually as he could to his knee, pulling his signature glasses off with one hand, slipping them and the wand up his sleeve, then yanked his trainer lace undone so by the time the two men walked passed him he was fully engrossed in tying it again, hair hopefully falling all the way over his lightning bolt scar.

   They turned straight into the narrow street with the phone box. Harry held his breath and tried to shift his angle so he could see what they were doing. They’d stopped by what looked like a bag of rubbish and were pulling out a couple of sets of robes. Harry guessed there must have been a filter at the end of the alley so Muggles couldn’t see magical goings on, as the two seemed wholly unconcerned as they pulled their mishmash of Muggle clothes off and redressed themselves in their own, black robes.

   “Complete waste of time,” said the man on the left in a Welsh accent. He was smaller than his companion by at least half a foot, and had wicked looking eyes and a small, pinched mouth.

   The taller one with salt and pepper hair shrugged. “Boss says ‘do’, I do,” he said.

   The Welsh one smoothed down his robes. “As if he’d be stupid enough to come poking around here? He’ll be long gone.”

   The taller one shrugged again. “Boss has got his mates. I reckon he’ll come looking around. And that’s what he wants isn’t it, he wants him to come back?”

   The Welsh one sighed as if he couldn’t care less. “I don’t know, but you can hang around here if you want to find out. I need a cup of tea.”

   Salt-and-Pepper pursed his lips, then nodded his head in agreement. Having finished dressing he yanked the door of the telephone box open and stepped inside. “What’s the code again?” he asked the smaller man who was still putting on his shoes.

   He scoffed. _“Magic,”_ he said scornfully. “How bloody stupid is that?”

   The taller man waited until he’d finished with his last lace and entered the phone booth, then did something Harry couldn’t quite see with the receiver. The entire telephone box began sinking into the ground.

   Harry let go of the breath he’d been holding, immensely relieved neither one had looked around properly to see him supposedly trying his lace for at least three minutes. He stood up and shook pins and needles from the leg he’d been kneeling on.

   That must be the entrance, he thought, hovering on the edge of the alley to see what happened. He didn’t want to go over there and wait for the booth to re-emerge only to have a fresh set of Death Eaters in.

   They were talking about him, of that much he was certain. He wasn’t surprised to hear Voldemort was looking for him after the stunt Bellatrix had pulled at Sirius’ house. But why? And why with such intensity? When he’d needed Harry before he’d orchestrated the entire Tri-Wizard tournament over the best part of a year. This screamed of desperation.

   There was a sort of whirring noise, and slowly the red box started emerging again. Harry ducked back around onto Whitehall again, and waited until the whirring had stopped before looking back around. The alley was once more deserted.

   Not wasting any more time, he dashed over to the booth and jumped inside. The Welsh man had said the code was ‘Magic’ but as he looked around the inside of the box he wasn’t really sure what that translated to. He tried saying ‘Magic’ into the mouth piece, but nothing happened. He started getting nervous; he was a easy target standing trapped in a glass box. He thought maybe there was a spell he should do, but the taller man had definitely done something physically to the keypad itself. Harry stared at it; then his eyes widened. The numbers all had at least three letters on as well as their numerical worth. He could spell the word outright he realised with a rush of excitement. He looked around to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then punched in 62442 – or ‘Magic’ if you looked at the letters.

   “Welcome,” said a soothing voice, making Harry jump. There was no one there, but it sounded like a woman was standing right by him as she spoke.

“Um, hi?” said Harry back.

   “Please state your name and purpose.”

   Harry thought about it. “My name is...Alex Watcher,” he said, feeling it was best not to give his real name. “And I’m here...” Oh what the Hell, he thought. “I’m here,” he said, more forcefully. “To find my friends and save the Ministry.” After a moment there was a rattling noise, and a silver badge popped out of the change dispenser. It had been engraved, and now read ‘Alex Watcher – Rescue Mission’.

   Harry gripped onto it as the box began to descend, then slipped the badge into his jeans. Wand in hand and heart in mouth, he waited for the Ministry to emerge.

 

***

 

   Draco was beside himself. “It should have been me!” he ranted for at least the dozenth time as he shoved the blasted wardrobe again. He laced his fingers through his hair, yanked, and closed his eyes as he tried to take a deep breath to steady himself.

   “No,” insisted Hermione, causing him to open his eyes. “She was right, it was much more believable that we would leave her – you’re a foot taller, two stone heavier and as far as they’d be concerned trained up to at least OWL level.”

   Draco snatched his hands from his hair and slammed them down on the balding man’s desk. “She was supposed to be right outside the door! We only lost sight of her for a few seconds and now they’ve _got_ her and they’ll be _angry!”_

   When he’d suggested his wardrobe plan, for everyone to hide and then have someone tell the guard they’d escaped, he’d fully intended to have himself be the bait. But Sarah had argued her point with such conviction, she’d swayed Ron and Hermione relatively easily. But the last thing Draco had wanted to do was put her in any more danger than he absolutely had to, he’d promised to _protect_ her, he’d said the words to her face.

   He’d refused as long as he had because he also suspected there was another reason Sarah was putting herself on the front line. He couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted some sort of payback for what had happened to her last November; after being taken prisoner, maybe she wanted to get one over on them, even if it wasn’t technically the same people or even the same world.

   Eventually, Hermione had sworn they would abandon their hiding place as soon as whoever came left with the door open behind them, that way they could jump them from behind. But when they’d done just that, they’d emerged to find a deserted corridor waiting for them.

   “She’s only thirteen,” said Draco, feeling physically sick. “I’m supposed to take care of her – me – her dad asked me to, not Harry, and I’ve handed her over _to be tortured!”_

   “Now you _listen_ to me, Draco Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, stamping her foot. He blinked in surprise. “Nobody wanted this to happen. We had a plan, and it went wrong. We’re not going to help her by losing it here. We need to get out before anybody thinks to actually come back and check for us, then we can look for her, our wands, and anything else that will help us get out of this stupid place!”

   Draco stared at her. He’d never even heard his own Hermione shout before, not like that. It was pretty scary.

   Ron however didn’t seemed phased at all. “She’s right mate,” he said, “we need to get going. If we get captured we’ll end up right where we started.”

   “Go where though?” he demanded. “We have no idea where they’ve taken her.”

   “Anywhere,” said Hermione, throwing her hands up. “So long as we’re not here when they come back, we stand a better chance of remaining free to find her.” She shoved her hands on her hips. “Now are you coming, or do we have to leave you behind?”

   Draco was instantly irked at the idea Hermione would leave him behind and take Ron, so he gritted his teeth. “Fine then,” he said, then marched out the door.

   How had they disappeared though? Draco thought angrily as he stalked off to the left, back towards the elevators. He didn’t think you could apparate in the Ministry any more than you could at Hogwarts. Unless there was a secret corridor or something, but without knowing exactly where or what those kind of things were impossible to find, so he didn’t even bother to look as he stomped up to the lifts.

   “So where are we going?”

   Hermione chewed her lip and thought. “We know there are bad guys upstairs, so why don’t we take a look and see what’s down a floor?”

   Draco shrugged and jabbed the number five button. He couldn’t understand why the other two weren’t more upset; maybe he was feeling overtly responsible because it had been his plan, or because he’d been living with her for the past few months and she was essentially just a stranger to them, but their apparent lack of panic or worry was making him even more angry.

   The lift opened on the fifth floor, and the three students peered cautiously out. There didn’t seem to be anybody moving, but there were a considerable amount of frozen Ministry employees stuck mid way between actions. Some were walking, some mid-conversations, complete with hand gestures. One skinny girl with limp blonde hair and a badge that read ‘Temp’ had a box of frosted doughnuts in her hands, people eagerly delving in to help themselves.

   “Oh yes,” exclaimed Ron, plucking a pink one between the fingers. “I’m starving.” He saw that Draco and Hermione were staring incredulously at him. “What?” he asked, shoving a bite in his mouth. “It’ll only go stale – you want some?”

   Hermione shook her head, but Draco just curled up his fists and headed down the corridor. Eating was the last thing on his mind.

   “Wait,” said Hermione, looking between Ron’s half eaten doughnut and a witch across the corridor who had been gesticulating with her wand.

   “What?” said Ron guiltily through a full mouth. But Hermione waved him off.

   “You just gave me an idea,” she said. “Although I’m not sure a disaster such as this one gives you licence to steal.”

   Ron shrugged as if he couldn’t care less now he’d had his doughnut, but Draco was watching Hermione as she moved over to the other witch. “As it _is_ a disaster,” she said, walking confidently up to her. “I’m sure some of these people wouldn’t mind if we borrowed their wands.”

   Draco nodded. “Good thinking,” he said as she wrapped her fingers around the wand, but as she pulled nothing happened.

   “It’s stuck?” she said, and tried pulling again. Draco frowned as he came to stand by her, but no matter what angle she tried, the wand refused to part from the hand of its owner.

   “Let me try?” said Ron, licking his sticky fingers. Hermione huffed and stepped aside, but Ron had no more luck that she had.

   Draco looked around at the other witches and wizards. “Here,” he said, pointing at an elderly gentleman who appeared to be scratching his head with his wand. “Let’s try someone else.” But the wizard’s wand refused to leave his hand just as much as the witch’s. Even trying to pull several out of other people’s pockets yielded them nothing, and eventually Hermione sighed in defeat.

   “They must be melded to them,” she said in disappointment. “As part of the spell.”

   Ron patted her on the back. “It was a good idea though,” he said kindly.

   Draco was disappointed too, but seeing as they were no worse off than they had been before, he suggested they move on, keep looking for Sarah.

   The hallway had several doors leading off from it, most of which were open so their occupants could be seen. From the signs on the walls it seemed it appeared they were in the International Magical Office of Law.

   As Draco was heading towards the T junction at the end, several of the Ministry people were looking up and towards the junction in surprise. Numerous others were moving from their desks, some leaning out of their doors in concern.

   “What’s going on here?” asked Hermione, weaving around several bodies to stand beside Draco.

   He frowned. “I’m not sure. Let’s keep going.”

   They reached the end of the corridor, but upon seeing down each of the left and right corridors, it wasn’t hard to decide which direction to go in. To their right, halfway down, there was a great body of people, flailing out, and apparently shouting at people who were no longer there. Ron caught up to them, and the three of them walked up to the gaggle, who were spilling out of the office behind them.

   “Kingsley Shacklebolt,” breathed Draco, staring at the familiar, though very angry face of the agent he’d met in Germany and then several times since on follow up business. He looked at the name on the door everyone was gathered around. “This is his office.”

   “My dad said he got promoted after Sirius got his name cleared,” said Ron, squinting at the man’s frozen face. “Something top notch, dunno what.”

   “I think,” said Hermione, stepping back to analyse the situation. “They were trying to stop people coming in.”

   “And then they got frozen,” said Ron in wonder.

   Draco rubbed his head to try in vain to ease the headache that still hadn’t left him. “Perhaps,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “We should try and find out why they didn’t want anyone getting in the office?”

   Hermione looked tentatively up and down the hallway, then nodded. However, getting into the office was easier said than done, as there was such a cluster of people packed in and around the doorway it was almost impossible to squeeze past the rock solid bodies. Eventually, Draco took the rather ungraceful route of crawling between their legs.

   Kingsley’s office was very neat, with several tribal looking artefacts hanging from the walls, as well as a calendar of water skiing puppies. There were several other people frozen in the room, a woman pulling at drawers in the desk, another yanking open a filling cabinet, and a man standing by the window. The woman at the cabinet’s hand was held up at a funny angle, making it look like a claw. Hermione spotted it as soon as she’d crawled through into the room. “That’s odd,” she said, going over and peering at her and then in at the files.

   Ron made his way in too and looked around. “I wish I could remember what Kingsley’s new job was,” he muttered to himself, going over to stare at the puppies splashing around under ‘October. “Might explain why everyone’s gathered around here.”

   “The Death Eaters must have wanted something,” said Draco, already losing interest. “Probably a file that that woman had in her hand.” He indicated over to her with a nod, and Hermione started riffling through the drawer the Ministry woman still had her other hand resting on.  

   “Dice,” Hermione said, reading out names from the file separators. “Didcot Railway Authority, Dignitaries; Foreign –”

   “A-choo!”

   “Bless you,” said Hermione without even blinking. “Dilberton, Walter –”

   “I didn’t sneeze.”

Draco found himself going very still. “What?” said Hermione, looking up at Ron.

   “I didn’t sneeze,” he repeated, and Draco turned to see him peering up from under the desk. “I was looking under here to see if there was anything dodgy – my dad has a trap door that he uses when he wants to avoid meetings.”  

   “Then who did sneeze?” asked Draco. Because it certainly wasn’t him.

   Suddenly, the man standing by the window wasn’t quite as frozen as he should have been any more. In fact, he was reaching for his wand as fast as he could. With a yell, Draco sprung off his feet and slammed into him, knocking them both to the floor. Ron scrambled up and joined in as the man started shouting.

   “Get off me! Get off me!” he squeaked, but Draco didn’t relent until he’d wrestled his wand off him and had it pointed at his head.

   “Who are you?” he demanded, panting. Ron was scowling through his black eye, which he was once again cradling after the Death Eater had thumped it with his elbow. Hermione raced over and stood side by side with Draco.

   “What are you doing in here, what do you want?”

   The Death Eater, a fleshy, freckled man with strawberry blonde tufts of hair and beard, backed up against the fake window. “I’m not telling you anything!” he spat. “What the Hell are you doing here anyway, you’re just kids?”

   “Kids with your own wand pointed at you,” said Draco, not able to help the hint of a smile that crept on his face. It felt good to fight back. “Who you are probably isn’t important as if you’re not frozen you must be a Death Eater.” The man glared at him and pressed his lips together. “So that leaves _why_ are you here, didn’t you already get what you wanted.”

   This time the man actually spat, right at Draco’s feet. He felt his anger bubbling. Channel it, he willed himself, you need information from this man.

   “Ahh,” he said softly in mock sympathy. “Weren’t you allowed to hang out with the big boys? Did you have to hang out here and sit with the statues?”

   The man curled his lip in a sneer. “You think you can goad me into talking?” he said, then puffed a few gasps of air that could have been a laugh. “You’re even more of an idiot than I first thought.”

   “I am Lucius Malfoy’s son.”

   All colour drained behind the man’s freckles. “You...you what?”

   “You heard him,” said Ron, bolstering up to Draco’s side. “He’s Draco Malfoy, and we’re his mates, so you’d better do what he says or he’ll tell his dad.”

   The freckled man looked between them, mouth open. “But...why aren’t you at the school?”

   “Change of plan.”

   “Oh...” he said, eyes flicking wildly about in confusion. “So...so we’re on the same side, you can give me back my wand?”

   “I lost my wand,” said Draco arrogantly, that old familiar Malfoy coming back to him again. He lowered said wand to a more casual stance. “I need to borrow yours. My father wanted us to check up on...things about the place.” Inwardly he cringed at how stupid he sounded, but apparently the Malfoy name was enough to counteract it. “He didn’t say anyone would be here though.”

   “Oh, oh,” said the man eagerly. “I was going through all the other files, like I was told, in case there was anything else interesting.”

   “So you already got the file you needed?” asked Hermione, and the man nodded. Unfortunately he didn’t elaborate, and Draco felt it would be pushing his luck to ask. So instead he said:

   “We were told to go check on that girl next, the little Goth one, but she’s been moved.” He felt his throat go dry, but he swallowed and thought of Sarah. “Do you have any idea where she would have been taken?”

   The man looked a little perplexed. “Well I’ve been here the whole time, I didn’t hear anything about a girl.” Draco was just weighing up what he should do next when the man cried out. “Oh! But I did hear someone say something about prisoners in the Quidditch offices. Even if she’s not there they’d probably know where she went.”

   He looked very pleased with himself, which made Draco even happier. “Thank you,” he said with a smile, before whipping the man’s wand up again. _“Stupefy!”_

   The man slammed into the wall and crumpled on the floor in an unconscious heap. “Where are the Quidditch offices?” Draco asked, turning away from him.

   “Erm,” said Ron, screwing up his face as he thought. “Definitely lower, on Level Seven or Eight I think.”

   “Fantastic,” said Draco, “let’s go.”

   “Wait,” said Hermione, dashing back over to the cabinet. “I just thought I’d spied an empty label when he sneezed, it might tell us what they came in here to find.” She started thumbing through the files again. And then her face dropped.

   Draco and Ron looked at each other. “What?” asked Ron. But Hermione didn’t answer, instead, she reached in and prised the label out of the holder. She walked over to the boys, and held it out with trembling hands for them to see.

   “‘Dimensional Hotspots’,” read Draco aloud in disbelief.

 

***

 

   Harry crouched down in the lift so he could see where he was the second it broke through. He was in an wide underground corridor with crackling fireplaces lining each side and dozens of people frozen mid-action. He could hear himself breathing rapidly as his eyes scanned the men and women from the Ministry who were mid-stride, mid-conversation, checking their watches, reading documents. It was true then.

   Harry stood up slowly once it was clear no one was awake to see him, and waited for the lift to stop. It did so with a ‘ping!’ and the telephone box door swung open. Harry waited for anyone to react to his presence, then stepped slowly out.

   How could they have commandeered the Ministry as well as the school, _how?_ There must be countless spells and enchantments in place to stop this from happening. He sighed and walked slowly through the statues of people towards a large golden fountain at the end of the corridor. He could worry about the why later, he reasoned, for now he had to try and find his friends without getting caught.

   The sound of voices made him start and whip his head around in panic. He wasn’t at the end of the fireplace corridor yet, so he couldn’t really tell which direction they were coming from. He looked around desperately for somewhere to hide; he could jump into a fireplace but where would he go, how would he get back? He then realised he had no Floo powder anyway, so that wasn’t an option. The voices were getting closer, and the telephone booth had retracted back up to street level taking with it his only exit. Maybe he could try and hide behind a person?

   Or why hide at all? He froze where he was, as if he was walking towards one of the mantelpieces. He slowed his breathing down as much as he could, and stared unblinking at the floor. He was far enough back and in amongst plenty of people, if he had any luck at all whoever it was would walk right past him without a moment’s pause.

   And then, Harry remembered that luck wasn’t always his friend. Out of the corner of his unmoving eye, he saw two figures turn the corner and head straight for where the phone box had just left. Harry could feel a bead of sweat pricking on his temple, and he did his best to will it not to roll down his face.

   “-can’t believe they ate all the chocolate digestives,” moaned a familiar Welsh accent. “Do you think one of them Muggle shops would take a Galleon?”

   They stopped barely a few feet from Harry and the taller one with the salt and pepper hair did something with his wand, presumably to call the booth down again. Harry felt dizzy with the effort of concentrating on not moving. Come on, he urged the phone box, come on hurry up.

   “Hey,” said the one who wasn’t Welsh. “Hey look at that bloke, he looks a bit like Harry Potter doesn’t he?”

   Harry felt the world tilt, but strained every muscle not to react. He prayed his hair was at least covering his scar. “Yeah,” said the Welsh one, surprised. “It’s the glasses I guess, and he’s a bloody midget.”

   Harry felt the was rich coming from him, who was barely taller than himself, but he was more concerned that Salt-and-Pepper was moving over to him, and leaned in to stare at his face. “Um – he’s got a scar as well?”

   “What?” asked the Welsh one, ignoring the phone booth as he lowered to the ground. “Are you kidding?”

   He came and stood beside his partner, staring at Harry’s face. There was nothing for it – his wand was already in his hand after all.

   “Hello,” he said.

   The two Death Eaters jumped back in shock, and Harry aimed a spell over his shoulder at them as he took off like lightning. _“Expelliarmus!”_ he cried, not sure if he hit anything or not. His trainers slapped on the polished oak floor as he sprinted away. The men were yelling and roaring after him, and Harry jerked to the left as a blue spell went flying over his head.

   It missed him by a foot or so, but it hit the golden fountain at the end of the corridor in a spectacular explosion of sparks. With a crash like a roll of thunder the fountain blew apart and water escaped it's confines in all directions, pouring out disproportionately all over the floor, flooding the auditorium in seconds.

   Harry didn’t have time to think, he just pelted beyond the wreck of the fountain with its half destroyed golden statues and down another corridor. The water was chasing him, rushing along so he was now running through a good few inches of water.

   The Welsh man and Salt-and-Pepper were cursing him, and Harry could hear them splashing behind him, but he didn’t stop to look. His corridor became a crossroads, and he veered left, shooting past a series of offices. It was at this point he dared look over his shoulder, and when he saw there was no one following, he darted into the nearest office and threw himself behind the door.

   He gulped down several breaths, then strained his ears to hear whether or not he was being followed. The two men were still shouting, but from the sounds of it they had gone straight on at the crossroad, and soon enough all Harry could hear was the lapping and whooshing of water. He looked down, incredulous as the Ministry’s new lake rippled excitedly around his shins. How could one fountain produce some much water? Whatever the blue curse must have been, it had obviously had an unhappy reaction with whatever spells were infused on the fountain.

   Not wanting to wait until the Death Eaters came back, Harry headed back out of the office, and headed in the direction several signs told him the elevators were.

   If the fountain kept this up, he’d soon need a snorkel to try and find his friends.

 

***

 

   Sarah didn’t know what happened. One second they were walking out of the balding man’s office, the next they’d been in a corridor lined with Quidditch posters. Her knees gave way, and the oaf tried angrily to pull her up again but her head was whirring. “What happened!” she stammered. “Where are we?”

   She looked behind them and there was no sign of the office. No sign of Draco. Her stomach twisted in fear, he was supposed to come out and rescue her, it was all planned, there was nothing that could go wrong. “I thought you couldn’t apparate in the Ministry?” she asked desperately. The man just yanked her arm until her legs had no choice but to walk.

   “No questions,” he grunted.

   All the office doors were covered with memorabilia from different Quidditch teams, there were several Death Eaters hurrying about and most of them gave her suspicious looks as they rushed past. Sarah couldn’t stop shaking. They were going to hurt her like last time, they would do...it would be....

   The tears were falling silently down her face. She wanted to fight, she wanted to scream and tell them all they could go to Hell, but they’d taken her wand, and she was the smallest person she’d seen since they’d left the school. She didn’t stand a chance.

   Why didn’t she listen to Draco? He’d begged her not to be the bait, but she’d been so stubborn. She would never wish Draco to be in danger, but he could have at least tried to punch his way out. All she had was a foul mouth.

   Somebody screamed, and Sarah’s insides flipped over so violently she was certain all the chocolate she’d eaten was going to come straight back up. They were hurting someone, it could be her next. “Please,” she found her tiny voice whimpering. “Please, I don’t know anything.”

   The big man said nothing, which scared her even more.

   He threw open a door covered in paraphernalia for the Wigtown Wanderers, and Sarah had to give everything she had not to pass out. Bellatrix Lestrange was standing in an office whose contents had been pushed to the walls to clear a space on the floor. Sprawled on that floor, black and blue, blood running from his nose and mouth, was Sirius Black.

   _“Sirius!”_ screamed Sarah, unable to choke back the sob in her throat. Sirius managed to lift his head and smile through blood soaked teeth.

   “Hi sweetie,” he croaked. “Bells and I were just having a chat and a cuppa. You okay?”

   Bellatrix, flicked her wand angrily and him, and he jerked over in a shower of scarlet droplets. Sarah was crying uncontrollably now.

   “Stop it!” she screamed, ignoring the man’s fingers digging into her arm. “He hasn’t done anything, leave him alone!”

   Bellatrix acted as if she hadn’t said anything and looked straight at the oaf. “What’s the meaning of this Mane, I told you I was not to be disturbed?”

   The man, Mane, shoved Sarah to the floor, where she curled up on her knees. This woman was going to kill her in a fit of temper, just like that Death Eater back at Sirius’ house. Mane explained what had happened when he’d gone back to the office and found only Sarah there, but she heard the words only faintly over the loud buzzing in her ears. She would never get home, she would never see her parents again, they would never know what happened to her.

   Bellatrix swooped down and dragged her from the floor by her hair, causing her to cry out. “LEAVE HER ALONE!” bellowed Sirius, scrambling from the carpet, but Mane aimed a malevolent ‘Crucio’ at him and he went back down in a twist of limbs.

   Bellatrix let her squirm for a bit whilst she studied her face carefully. “What’s your name, little girl?” she whispered after a time.

   “Sarah,” she said, not bothering to lie. She couldn’t see the point.

   “Sarah,” repeated Bellatrix slowly. “And why are you friends with someone like Potter, he’ll get you in all kinds of trouble you know.”

   “He’s the bravest person I ever met,” spat Sarah, holding the back of her head to try and relieve some of the pain from the hair Bellatrix was pulling. Bellatrix laughed.

“Stupidest more like.”

   Sarah twisted, even though it hurt. “He managed to escape you without too much trouble,” she shot back. Bellatrix’s face darkened and she leaned in right up close to Sarah.

   “And left all of you for me to play with,” she whispered, curling her lip. “What a hero.”

   “Ms Lestrange!”

   They all turned to look as two men skidded to a halt outside the door. They were soaking wet.

   “Ms Lestrange!” said the shorter of the two again in a Welsh accent. “Potter, in the auditorium!”

   “What?” she snapped, tightening her grip of Sarah’s ponytail causing her to gasp but her heart was in her mouth. Was Harry _here?_

   “He was hiding amongst the Ministry people,” said the Welsh man, puffing up his chest. “We found him, but then he blew up that fountain with the elves on and it won’t stop flooding.”

   Bellatrix looked at them as if she’d just been informed that London zoo had just been opened and the monkeys were chasing the giraffes if she’d like to see?

   “Where is _Potter?”_ she demanded, eyes wild, mouth hanging open.

   “Well,” said the man, “er, we er, lost him. Cuz of all the water.”

   Bellatrix flung Sarah to the ground but she barely felt the impact. Harry was here! He was okay, he was coming to her rescue! Sirius shuffled over to her and wrapped his arms protectively around her. The action startled her; this Sirius had only just met her. But she guessed from what Harry said he knew who she was, and she wasn’t going to shake him off. Instead she gripped on to his arm and curled into his body, covering her clothes in his blood. “Hang in there,” he whispered.

   “You _lost_ him!” screeched Bellatrix, and the two men flinched backwards. “Does water now make you _invisible?_ Does it have magical teleportation properties I was unaware of!”

   The two men glanced at each other. “Erm,” said the taller with salt-and-pepper hair. “I don’t think so boss.”

   She howled in rage and blasted them both off their feet, before turning her wand on Mane. “You!” she snarled. “Get double the guards on those brats, I won’t risk him getting to them first.”

   The brute man Mane went the colour of old porridge. “Well, Ma’am, that’s...that’s what I came down here to tell you.” He shuffled his feet and bit his chapped lips. “They ain’t there anymore.”

   Bellatrix just stared at him. After a few moments of silence, Mane shuffled his feet again. “That girl, she said they escaped and left her behind because she was too little.”

Bellatrix turned her head to Sarah, still cradled in Sirius’ arms, and stared at her with wide, mad eyes. “Well?”

   Sarah felt a irrational burst of courage run through her. Harry was here and he was going to rain down retribution on this evil woman. “They were hidden in the wardrobe,” she boasted. “I just told him they were gone, so he left the door open when we left for them to just walk out.”

   The big man looked like he might pass out. _“CRUCIO!”_ bellowed Bellatrix, and Sarah cried out and recoiled against her Godfather, but the spell was not for her. Mane crashed to the floor and began writhing about, yelling incomprehensibly in pain.

   “IMBECILE!” raved Bellatrix. “Inbred morons, the lot of you!” She released Mane from the curse, and he lay panting and sweating on the floor. “Be gone from my sight before I tear your eyes out and make you eat them!”

   The three men couldn’t move fast enough to get away from the enraged woman, but that just left Sirius and Sarah alone with her. Suddenly Sarah didn’t feel quite so brave.

   Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the two of them. “See,” she said, petulantly. “Stupid. What kind of idiot would walk into his enemy’s stronghold? Now you’re all just going to die.”

   Sarah felt her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Maybe you’re the one who’s going to die,” she breathed. Bellatrix flung her arm back to cast a spell, but a voice made her pause.

   “Bellatrix?” it said, timidly. “Our Master has a message for you.” Bellatrix immediately dropped her arm. Sarah’s stomach dropped as Peter Pettigrew walked into the room.

   She felt Sirius tense behind her too. “Hello Wormtail,” he snarled. Pettigrew glanced shiftily at his old friend, then brought his eyes guiltily back to the floor. One of his arms was transparent and glowing bright blue.

   “The Dark Lord has asked for the prisoners to be relocated to Courtroom Ten. Except...except for her.” Sarah felt something cold slide down her as her former Godfather indicated her with a nod of the head. Bellatrix, swung back around and glowered at her.

   “Her?” she said, curious.

   Pettigrew nodded. “He wants to know...if she’s the one?”

   The one? The one what? Sarah couldn’t help the panic rising in her throat. “Fine,” snapped Bellatrix. “You take Black, I know how much you two enjoy each other’s company.”

   Pettigrew paled but nodded as Bellatrix waved her wand and blew Sirius and Sarah out of each others’ arms, before binding each of their hands together. Sirius made to body slam into Pettigrew, but he blasted him with a curse that knocked him off his feet. Pettigrew stepped backwards into the corridor, wand still pointed at Sirius in his shaking, human hand.

   “Nott,” he called out, “Miller, Robinson, come and help here.” Three burly men came into the room, and were soon hauling the dazed Sirius off the floor. Sarah could only cower on the carpet and watch.

   “Be strong,” he told her, spitting out blood as they dragged him away. Sarah found she was shaking again. She hoped Sirius and the others would be okay, but it was herself she couldn’t help but fear for now.

   Not Voldemort, she pleaded silently. Not him.

   She went with Bellatrix without a fuss, not seeing any way she could possibly escape and deciding to conserve her energy. It looked like the were going to walk through into another office, but as they crossed the threshold Sarah’s vision blurred, and once more they ended up in a completely different department. The sign on the wall read ‘Floo Network Authority’, and there were decidedly less Quidditch posters on the walls. They must have shifted levels again, but _how?_

   Bellatrix marched her through deserted corridors until they arrived in a large conference room with portraits of former Heads of the Department lining the walls. There was a long, mahogany table sat gleaming in the centre of the room, and on the floor was a rich red carpet. The former Department Heads looked less than happy. Sarah wasn’t surprised, as standing by the fireplace with his hands behind his back was none other than Lord Voldemort.

   He turned and smiled as Bellatrix flung herself to the floor in a disgusting display of reverence. Sarah just stood there, too frightened to do anything else. “Good evening young lady,” said Voldemort, his voice as smooth as glass.

   Sarah shifted her feet. “Hi,” she said, jaw clenching. He studied her, making her feel very uncomfortable.

   “You are,” he said thoughtfully. “A long way from home.”

   A wave of panic crashed inside Sarah. What did he mean? Her mouth got the better of her though before she could think. “Yeah,” she snapped, “because you kidnapped me.”

   Bellatrix leapt to her feet and smacked the back of Sarah’s head, but Voldemort just chuckled softly to himself. “What is your name?”

   Sarah licked her lips. “Sarah,” she said as calmly as she could muster.

   “Sarah what?”

   She’d been prepared for this. “Jones,” she said without a moment’s pause.

   Voldemort tilted his head. “Try again.”

   She tried not to let her fear show. “What do you mean, that’s my name.”

   Voldemort began walking slowly towards her and Bellatrix, and she would have stepped back except Bellatrix had a hold of her shoulder. The rope bindings were chafing uncomfortably on her wrists, but she fidgeted at them anyway.

   “There is no student by that name registered at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He stopped a few feet in front of her and looked her up and down.

   “That’s not my fault,” she said, aware of Bellatrix’s nails scratching her through her clothes. “I was home schooled until this year, I only just started, my records are probably too new.”

   Voldemort laughed again. “So much spirit,” he said, shaking his head. “Just like your brother.”

   Sarah froze. She then tried to shake it off. “I don’t have a brother,” she told him flippantly.

   “Not in this world, anyway.”

   She couldn’t help it. She just stared at the snake-like man standing before her. How could he know, how could he possibly know?

   “I think I’m going to have use of you later,” he said pleasantly. “And all this time I thought it was young Harry we wanted.” He turned his head to Bellatrix. “Please see that she is kept comfortable. Sarah Potter is now our honoured guest.”

 

***

 

   Draco watched Ron jab the elevator button again impatiently. “What’s wrong with it?” he said, and poked it again for good measure. Draco frowned at the impassive doors, and looked around the corridors of Level Five. They’d been waiting at least three minutes for a lift to appear – surely that wasn’t right.

   _“Alohomora,”_ he said, prodding the lift doors with the wand he’d taken from the Death Eater. Nothing.

   “But _why?”_ wondered Hermione out loud again for the countless time. “Why would they be looking at Dimensional Hotspots, do they know you and Sarah have crossed over?”

   “I thought they were after Harry?” said Draco, pocketing the wand and seeing if he could force his fingers in between the soft rubber seal that connected the two sides of the doors.

   “And,” continued Hermione, “why does the Ministry have a file like that? Are they researching them?”

   “Perhaps we can ask them when we wake them all up?” suggested Draco. He started pulling the doors apart; they wouldn’t budge to begin with, but then something gave and they parted a few inches. He almost let go in surprise as he suddenly felt water splashing on his fingers.

   “What’s that noise?” said Ron, startled as the two of them stepped up to Draco’s side. Draco didn’t answer, instead he just threw all his weight behind the doors and heaved. After another moment’s resistance, the two doors slammed all the way to the side. The three students just stood and gawped. Before them stood the empty lift shaft, and down it was cascading a torrent of water that really did not belong there.

   “What the...” said Draco, trying to get close enough to look upwards to see where the water was coming from, but there was too much, it was like trying to look up a waterfall and within seconds Draco’s face was soaked. He stepped back and swept his damp hair off his face. “Okay...that’s not normal is it?”

   Ron shook his head slowly, whilst Hermione crossed her arms and scowled. “That shouldn’t stop the elevator from working,” she grumbled. “It’s not electric is it, it’s magic.”

   Draco rubbed the back of his neck and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe there’s just not room for a lift in there right now.”

   “Why...?” said Ron, still shaking his head. “Why if the lift shaft raining?”

   Draco puffed out a lungful of air. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s add that to the list of things to explain later – maybe it’s just a problem with the plumbing. Right now we should move to plan B.”

   “Which is?” asked Hermione.

   Draco pointed back the way they’d come. “Stairs.”

   They weaved their way back through the offices and frozen Ministry employees, checking that their prisoner was still unconscious and tied up in Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office. “I think I should have the wand,” said Hermione suddenly. She was being quiet, but the sudden noise still made Draco nervous.

   “Oh,” he said, taking it from his pocket. “Sorry, I didn’t really think.” He held it out for her. “You can have it if you want.”

   She looked a little flustered.   “It’s just Harry said you’d not been taught properly in your world, and I might know-”

   Draco held up his hands. “Hermione it’s fine.”

   She bit her lip and took it. “That’s funny you know.”

   He raised his eyebrow at her as they reached the sign he knew he’d spotted earlier. The emergency stairs were to their left. “What’s funny?”

   “Hearing you say my name.”

   Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that except “Oh.” He dreaded to think what their Draco – or Malfoy more like – normally called her. Probably ‘Mudblood’. He felt ashamed for reasons that weren’t entirely logical, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.

   The doorway to the stairwell was up ahead, and Draco started to move quicker. He knew they’d probably be walking into a nest of Death Eaters, but even if it meant getting recaptured he had to get back to Sarah.

The door started opening. Before Draco even had a chance to cry out, Hermione had the confiscated wand out and was blasting the door back in on itself.  The three students stood breathing heavily, watching as the door swung violently forward again, forced out by the water racing down the steps beyond.

   Hermione looked at the two boys. “I thought there was someone behind there?”

   “Hello?”

The three of them jumped and Hermione aimed the wand again. “Come out with your hands up!” she instructed.

   “I...I don’t mean you any harm,” came the voice again. Draco had gone very still. Whoever was on the other side was propping open the door a jar, and the water was rushing by, causing quite a racket. But there was something he couldn’t place about the voice.

   “We’ll be the judge of that,” said Hermione, earning an enthusiastic thumbs up from Ron.

   “Come out with your hands up!” he called out.

   Draco was suddenly unsure though. “No, wait,” he began, but the door was already opening. A drenched woman was on the other side, her hands obediently up. Her robes were soaked, but her hair was still relatively dry and styled in an elegant knot behind her head. She looked nervous more than anything else, and unsure in her footing against the surging waters which were now spilling out into the corridor, hurrying towards the three students feet.

   Draco couldn’t seem to breathe. “I heard a group of children had been taken prisoner from the school,” said the woman. “I couldn’t believe it was really you, I had to come find you, to see for myself.”

   Hermione and Ron looked a little confused, possibly because the woman had spoken directly to Draco. Probably because she looked like a Death Eater, but the words had been said with such concern.

   Almost certainly because Draco looked like he was about to lose all consciousness any second now.

   He fumbled to find the wall to his right, and spread his hand out on the cool painted brick to keep himself from falling. He looked at the woman standing in the rapidly expanding pool of water.

   “Draco?” she said.

   It was all he could do to keep the air flowing in and out of his lungs. The world was tilting horribly, but Draco urged himself to speak, to find the words. To find the courage.

   “Mum?” was all he found.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Down Street is a real, abandoned tube station. I've based my account here on quite extensive online research, so hopefully it's as accurate as it can be. 
> 
> Also, there's been a whole load of updates on my Tumblr @thehpdreamtrilogy today, so make sure you go check it out!
> 
> Hxxx


	7. Sea Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The world doesn’t revolved around you. Honestly, time moves on when you leave the room you know?” Bellatrix Lestrange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are too many Malfoys in the mix...

Chapter Six -

   Sea Change

 

Six billion backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?

This puzzle's falling into place, once more around the sun.

Remember when you were a kid, those days were all so long.

But if we don't do this,

somebody else will.

 

Three billion backs against the wall, a prayer for everyone.

We saw the changing at the sea, but not a thing was done.

Remember when you could rely, those days are all but gone.

And if we don't do this,

somebody else will.

If we don't do this,

somebody else will,

somebody else will.

 

One billion backs against the wall, at lease our feet were dry.

I was an island to myself, this storm would pass me by.

Remembering the things I did, I knew I would survive.

But if we don't do this,

somebody else will.

If we don't do this,

somebody else will,

somebody else will.

 

One million backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?

One thousand backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?

One hundred backs against the wall, now do we walk or run?

It's just your back against the wall, now do we walk or run?

Remember when you were a kid, those days are all but gone.

But if we don't do this,

nobody else will.

If we don't do this,

nobody else will,

nobody else will.

Turin Brakes

 

   Draco stared up at the roof of his four poster bed. It looked pretty much the same as it had done all day, but he didn’t feel that would stop him carrying on for another few hours. The wintery sunlight was attempting to filter its way around the heavy drapes that were obscuring his bedroom windows, and dust was dancing through the shafts of light that were creeping round the edges.

   He couldn’t remember what day of the week it was, and he’d stopped wearing a watch so his only indication of time was that it was still day due to the sunlight winking at him from behind the drapes. He wiggled a bit on his mess of a duvet, feeling blood rush back into some areas that he didn’t even realise had gone numb. He was so numb in general though it wasn’t surprising he’d not felt it. It was like his brain wasn’t even attached to his body some days. He dug his bitten fingernails into his palms just to make sure he could feel it, then wasn’t sure if he was relieved when he did.

   He thought he should probably try venturing out of the room – or even just the tangled up sheets – at some point before the day wore itself out, but honestly he couldn’t see a reason why he should. What would he do, who would he talk to? A dozen ideas flashed through his mind – chores that needed doing, spells he wanted to practice, knick-knacks he’d promised himself he’d rearrange, but none of it seemed appealing in the least. He’d already been for a run and laid in the bath until the water became cold, and at that his itinerary for the day had been completed.

   “This is ridiculous,” he said aloud to himself, his voice echoing around the room. It helped to talk out loud, to hear something other than his own heartbeat in his ears. With a sudden decisive movement he sat up, making the blood drain from his head and causing more than a little dizziness. The feeling was good, better than the numbness anyway. He rolled off the bed and stood up in his room. It was much the same as it had been all his life, neat, tidy, and impersonal. His father would never have allowed him to disrupt the centuries old décor anywhere in Malfoy Manor, least of all in his own bedroom. What if people learned something personal about him?

   “I could paint you entirely pink now if I wanted,” he said to it, but he didn’t really mean it. He may have been angry at his father, but he still had taste. He crossed his arms and sighed. Maybe a bit of redecorating would help though – after all, the place was his now. But having never been allowed to have any say in his room at all, he wasn’t sure where he’d start adding personal touches. What did other people have in their bedrooms? Posters? Pets? Collections of things that served no other purpose than to sit on shelves for years and collect dust?

   Nothing inspiring came to him, so he uncrossed his arms, swung his legs off the bed and walked out the door, leaving those particular problems for another day. He was only wearing his scuffed up jeans and a pair of odd socks; it was cold outside, snow still threatened to fall every other day even though spring was on its way, but Draco had lit every single fireplace in the whole house, just because he could, and enjoyed walking around as if he owned the place. Because he did.

   He stopped on the staircase and rubbed the back of his neck. It didn’t really feel like his though, it was too big, and too many other Malfoys had owned it before him.

   “Maybe I should get a villa in the Dordogne, and turn you into a hotel?” He liked threatening the place with that every now and again, he liked reminding it who was boss. But he knew no normal person would ever want to spend the night here, they’d be scared of waking up to a roomful of Malfoy spirits telling them they were dirty Mudbloods.

   He carried on his wander about the house, his footfalls echoing in the empty mansion as the golden sunlight shone through the tremendous windowpanes along the main corridor. His own little ball of sunshine bobbed along outside the windows. He hadn’t had the heart to dissolve it after he’d returned from Germany, and it sort of felt like having a pet, something he’d had little experience of. “You alright out there?” he called loudly. The ball bounced happily in response.

   He felt he should probably eat something, as he couldn’t remember the last time he had and he was still feeling dizzy from sitting up so quickly on his bed. He knew he’d lost even more weight in recent months, but he didn’t really care.

   He poked at his torso, grimacing at the ribs he could see outlined by the sunshine. He knew it was the running that was doing it; no one could push themselves for hours every day and then not eat without expecting to come out looking a little gaunt, but his runs were the only thing that freed his mind from all its stress, all the worries and problems he had knocking around up there. When he ran he felt good.

   When missed four meals in a row, he did not, no matter what he told himself. “Okay, you win” he said to the walls in defeat, and turned to head for the kitchen, ball of sunshine in tow.

   Blaise always made him eat. He liked when she came over, it felt like being ten again. They’d fence in the armory and play Gobstones, she would cook them something covered in cheese and then they’d drink wine and argue with the more grumpier portraits hanging on the walls. But Blaise hadn’t been over in quite some time, she had her own troubles at the moment what with her father finally being back in the country and attending her mother’s trail that was dragging on unpleasantly.

   Sometimes Sirius came over, but his work had been so crazy of late he hadn’t had much time for anything other than quick half hour tea stops. That meant Draco had to look after himself for most of the time and he wasn’t very good at it. His hair had grown far too long and there was never any proper food in the cupboards, as he was now finding as he searched through them in hopes of sparking his appetite. His eyes rested on the knife block, and a sudden all too familiar feeling ran through him.

   He rubbed his forearms, one after the other, and stepped away from the block. “You don’t need to do that anymore,” he told himself, feeling the spider web of scars under his fingers. “It doesn’t help. You promised your mother.”

   Narcissa Malfoy had been distraught when the fine lines had started appearing on her son’s arms, but he couldn’t stop himself, no matter what he’d told her. The blood felt good.

   “And now you run,” he said crossly, unwilling to go back down that path. He’d promised. Anger and determination forced him over to the fridge, and with a flick of his wand a corned beef and mustard sandwich started hastily making itself.

   He threw himself down at the kitchen table with his back to the knife block. That was the old Draco, he told himself as he breathed in and out. You are not him anymore. “It just makes you feel even worse after,” he said aloud, addressing the stove. “And you can’t really afford to feel any worse.” But a part of him yearned for the control he used to feel, the exultation as the blood ran down his fingers.

   He stared at the grain on the wooden table. “You’ve seen enough blood,” he muttered to himself.

   The plate landed with a thud more or less in front of him. There was mustard splattered all over the place, and half the beef was falling out, but Draco gave it a prod with his finger, licked the mustard off the edges and decided it looked like a reasonably edible sandwich. He screwed up his face, then gave up the fight and took a bite. Not bad.

   One productive task he had been working on since the new year was brushing up on his magic skills. He’d been out of education for so long he had forgotten a lot of the basics he had once known, and with school re-opening this autumn he would have to do some serious work in order not to fail completely.

   The thought of school made him loose his desire to eat entirely, and he dropped the half finished sandwich back down onto the plate. He rubbed the crumbs off his fingers and stared out the window at the sweeping Malfoy grounds. From here he could see the big oak by the moat, and the stone statue of the weeping angel. The sun was definitely on the other side of the horizon, edging towards another evening. The end of another wasted day.

   How could he possibly go back after what he’d done? Everyone knew it had been him that let The Dark Lord in, they’d found his blood all over the docks. The Ministry may not have bothered to prosecute him, but it was clear what everybody else in the magical community thought of him. Traitor. Child murderer. Scumbag.

   Draco tried to console himself that at least his mother had been freed, just like they’d promised, but even that had been taken away from him last year. He’d give anything to take back what he’d done, but he couldn’t, and he knew that.

   He’d hoped assisting Harry taking down the Death Eaters in Germany last November would have helped people understand who’s side he was really on, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Ministry officials who actually seemed like a decent guy, had insisted any of Voldemort’s followers still out there didn’t need any excuse for revenge attacks, so Draco’s involvement had not been publicised. Which kept him alive, but at times like these, Draco would have almost preferred his peers’ forgiveness.

   If he didn’t go back though, he could never convince people of his loyalty, of his remorse. Plus, as it stood his magically abilities were not far off that of a Squib, and he refused to live the rest of his life so woefully uneducated. He just wished the thought of returning to Hogwarts didn’t make his insides want to turn inside-out quite so violently.

   Draco picked up the other half of the sandwich and from sheer determination shoved it into his mouth. “It’ll make you feel better,” he said though mashed up bread and meat as he rose from the table, flicked the dirty plate into the sink with his wand and made it wash itself up.

   Thinking about Hogwarts propelled him towards his father’s study – or more specifically, his father’s drinks cabinet. Maybe he just wouldn’t go back at all? Maybe he could just stay at the mansion and continue trying to teach himself. But even Draco knew that wasn’t a feasible option. He might as well curl up and die if that’s what he was planning on doing. He couldn’t hide from the rest of the world forever.

   He reached the large, ornate cabinet on the far wall and pulled the doors open. There was a time when this action would have set off every alarm in the house, but now it just remained as silent as ever. Draco sighed and picked up a near empty bottle.

   “You never had enough of the good stuff father,” he told the house, and put the useless bottle back down again. After rummaging around the back of the shelf a little more he came across some decade old fire whiskey which looked like it would do the trick and some expensive Parisian cigarettes. “Excellent,” he said, looking at the slightly dusty packet. Perhaps the day was not going to be as dismal as first expected.

   Pouring a crystal cut glass of whiskey, he banged the heavy bottle down on the desk, lit a cigarette and wondered over to the gramophone with the intention of putting something extremely loud and dramatic on. As the music filled the air Draco smiled and closed his eyes; his father would have hated this. He took a sip of the amber liquid and felt the alcohol hit his brain. This was potent stuff and he was going to enjoy it, after all, his father never did.

   His father hadn’t really smoked either, but he had a large stash of cigarettes for when he was entertaining, and Draco sometimes liked the oaky taste to them, and the satisfaction of using up his father’s restricted supplies even more. Even if it did make him cough.

   Spending time in this study was ironically one of the other activities that cheered Draco up, and unlike running it didn’t give him the shakes. He had never once been allowed to set foot in the room whilst his father was still at home, and the first time he had done so after his arrest had been one of the most liberating and exhilarating experiences of his life. He reveled in his gradual assimilation of the place; removing all his father’s disreputable artifacts and enjoying all the luxuries he’d left behind. The drinks cabinet had been a life saver if he was honest, the occasional total blow out being the only thing that had really kept his sanity intact. But by smoking the expensive fags, reading all his private memos and playing whatever records he liked had also given Draco a much need sense of settling of scores against his old man. He may have been sentenced to rot away in Azkaban, but Draco could get his own kind of vengeance by working through the liquor cabinet.

   He stepped to the heavy bass and moved in time over to the ceiling high book case. Lucius Malfoy had an impressive collection of literature and Draco was quite happy immersing himself in it. Perhaps he would spend the afternoon reading, he thought as he took a drag on his cigarette (and coughed), but as he perused the various volumes nothing caught his eye. He shrugged and gave up, not wanting to spoil the first hint of a good mood.

   Instead, he waltzed around for a few bars then went to sit down at the mahogany desk. He loved the smell of the wood and leather in the room, and as he sunk into the armchair he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes once more. He drank a little more whiskey and mouthed a few of the lyrics. He wasn’t going to attempt to sing along with the artist’s soprano tones, but instead let the beat and violins course through him as he took the last few drags of his cigarette. If my father could see me now, he mused.

   The last time he had seen his father had been at his trial. He’d sat with Sirius Black and watched with bitter relief at the Ministry as he was sentenced to life for high treason against the country, amongst other things. The memory made him smile as he stubbed out the finished cigarette. Sirius had been more like a father to him than Lucius had ever been in the short time they had known each other, and it was days like this Draco missed him the most.

   Draco sipped his whiskey and thought about Sirius’ last visit to Malfoy Manor. Lily had been with him, and they’d come to talk about his living arrangements. Or, as Sirius had put it, the fact he was ‘making himself nuts knocking around this creepy place.’

   This creepy place was his home though, the place he’d lived with his mother. He toyed with a silver letter opener that had a snake as a handle. How original. What they were proposing though...did he want to live with the Potters? That would mean seeing the other Harry, the imposter, every day, and the thought made the beef sandwich and whiskey curdle in Draco’s stomach. What a waste, he thought bitterly and not for the first time. Why did this world have to have that idiot, and the proper Harry, the Harry from Germany, have to be from another reality. The concept still blew his mind.

   It would be nice to have company though, someone to talk to. Draco did worry some days he would lose his mind with only the portraits to argue with. Not all of them approved of him helping himself to Lucius’ private stores, and some of them followed him around the house shouting about how he’d disgraced the name of Malfoy. That only served to make Draco smile though.

   “And I’d do it again,” he said to no one, raising his glass in a toast then downing the last of the amber liquid.

   Perhaps Blaise would know what to do about the Potters’ offer, he thought as he poured another glass of whiskey. He always asked Blaise her opinion when he was debating something. But it was tricky, Sirius had forbidden him to talk to anyone, even Blaise, about Harry’s body swapping. He said it would put them all in terrible danger, and would risk someone else attempting a dimensional leap, which could end in disaster. Draco had sworn Blaise could keep a secret but Sirius wouldn’t budge, and after everything him and Lily were doing to look after him, Draco didn’t feel he could betray his trust.

   He tapped his finger on the wood. Hermione knew though, that Muggle girl who Harry had sought out for help after he’d woken up in the wrong reality. She’d crossed Draco’s mind several times since they’d come back from Germany; she’d found out she was a witch from Harry, only to have him disappear and be replaced with the idiot Draco had known all his life. It must have been a horrible shock for her, but it meant that she might know what Draco was going through.

   He reached to open one of the drawers to look for parchment when his hand stopped. He couldn’t write to her, she barely knew him, he’d attacked her the first time they’d met for crying out loud. But if not her, who else? Parvati? She’d stopped Draco from coming to Seamus’ funeral by all accounts, and Lily had too much on her plate dealing with her own children from what Sirius had said.

   He was finding though, as his hand hung in the air, there was something in him that just _wanted_ to talk to Hermione Granger. He wiggled his fingers and frowned. If he was honest with himself, he probably could ask Sirius or Remus advice about what to do about where he lived, or how he should feel about dealing with his old friend Potter. But he felt that was putting them in an awkward position, they were lifelong friends of the Potters. Hermione was an outsider, just like him.

   “Sod it,” said Draco, coming to a decision and reaching forward to open the drawer. But it didn’t have any parchment in, and neither did the others. He took a sip of whiskey then cursed as he remembered he’d been making paper airplanes last week and used it all up.

   “Dobby?” he said tentatively to the room. He wasn’t sure if he’d hear him over the thundering music; he hardly ever saw his house elf as he was always so busy with looking after the huge mansion, but within a few seconds there was a crack like a whip, and the little green elf was standing at the end of the desk looking eagerly up at Draco.

   “Yes Master Malfoy,” he said, practically standing on his tip-toes in anticipation. Draco grimaced.

   “It’s just Draco, remember Dobby? Master Malfoy was my dad.”

   The elf looked unsure. “Dobby knows that,” he said slowly. “But Dobby likes to address his master properly.”

   Draco smiled. “It’s okay, I promise. Think of this as the proper way.”

   Dobby shuffled his feet. “Okay Master...Draco,” he was with a nod. “Dobby will try.”

   “Wicked,” said Draco leaning his elbows on his knees and taking another sip of whiskey. It was hitting his head quite nicely now. “I was wondering if we had any parchment anywhere?”

   Dobby’s face lit up. “Oh yes Master Draco!” he chirped. “Dobby keeps some spare for when he catalogues his socks!” Dobby was so much happier since Draco had given him clothes and freed him last November. There was a time when he preferred drop-kicking him down the stairs, but after everything that happened at the school Draco had found he couldn’t do it without thinking of those two elves lying dead with their empty wicker basket. They hadn’t deserved that anymore than Neville Longbottom had. Once Draco stopped kicking him and started talking to him nicely, it wasn’t long before Dobby was creeping into Draco’s bedroom to leave him food when his father refused to have him at the dinner table, or covering him with a blanket when he fell asleep in his clothes.

   Freeing the elf was one of the first things he’d done when he returned from Germany. He paid him a Galleon a week for keeping the house straight, and as a bonus let him cut up any of Lucius’ old clothes he wanted to re-sew for his new wardrobe. It also meant he occasionally had someone to talk to other than the paintings and the walls, and Draco was very grateful for that.

   Dobby vanished in a flash and returned a few seconds later with another crack. “Here it is!” he cried, holding out a stack of paper for Draco to take. “Does Master Mal-Draco require anything else?”

   Draco smiled as he took the parchment and shook his head. “No thanks, I think I’m good,” he said. “But if you’d like to help yourself to a Butterbeer I put some in the fridge?”

   “Thank you Master Draco,” he said with a bow. “But Dobby is reorganising the garden shed this evening, and he’ll need his wits about him if he’s going to outwit the spiders in there.”

   Draco laughed. “Okay mate, maybe later then.”

   Dobby nodded and disappeared from sight, leaving Draco alone with his music, whiskey and parchment. He spent a long time staring at the blank paper before fishing out his father’s eagle quill with the metallic nib, unscrewing a fresh pot of ink and dipping it in. He let it drip clean, then poised his hand above the parchment. The track ended and moved onto the next song on the album; as the haunting vocals stirred around the room, Draco leant forward and took the plunge.

   “Dear Hermione...” he said aloud as he wrote.

 

***

 

   “Mum?” said Draco, feeling as if the walls were liquefying either side of him. His whole body was shaking, going into shock, he stumbled backwards into the brickwork and tried to remember how the air usually got into his lungs.

   The woman, Narcissa Malfoy, spread her trembling hands out in front of her. “Draco what are you _doing_ here?” she said. She looked terrified, her eyes unable to stay still, as if she expected an attack to come from under the carpet or behind the paintwork. “You’re not supposed to be here, this is nothing to do with us!” She made to grab his hand. “We have to leave, _now!”_    But Draco found his feet tripping over themselves as he backed away, stumbling into Hermione. She grabbed his shoulder, tension vibrating through her fingers.

   “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, though he couldn’t imagine how it was. Narcissa stopped mid-stride, startled.

   “Draco, what are you doing, we have to go, before there’s any more trouble.” The blood was roaring through his ears like he was standing behind a waterfall. He knew this might happen, he’d been purposefully avoiding dwelling on the matter for fear it would drive him crazy, but here she was now, in the flesh.

   His mother.

   There she stood, in rich cotton robes, diamonds dripping from her wrists to rival the water dripping from her golden hair. Her beautiful eyes, her soft voice, everything he thought he’d lost forever staring him in the face. He could feel his heart cracking again, the fissures still fresh from the last time it had shattered.

   “Er,” said Ron nervously to Draco. “That’s your mum yeah? Like...a proper Malfoy?”

   Draco barely heard him. He didn’t want this, he’d always known that from the moment it had become clear he’d stepped into the wrong universe. He didn’t want to torment himself with the life, the love, he could never have again. But there was no way to hide now, she stood there, her delicate frame like a dancer, poised on the balls of her feet as if waiting to take flight.

   “Draco?” she whispered, her voice wavering, her hand outstretched.

   He tried to pull his voice up from where it was hiding. “I can’t leave,” he managed.

   “Don’t be ridiculous,” replied Narcissa with a twitch of a smile, trying to conceal the desperation in her voice. “We’ll just get in the way, Bellatrix has already made a silly mistake bringing you here, but she’ll understand later.” She beckoned him. “Come on,” she said, attempting the smile again. “We need to go before your father finds out, he doesn’t need to know anything.”

   Draco felt his anger flare at the mention of his father, that cringing way in which she defended him. He knew it all too well.

   “That man can rot in Hell,” snarled Draco before he could help himself, his body quivering against Hermione’s. He could feel her fingers gripping into his shoulder, propping him up as he tried unsuccessfully to shake his head clear, to process what he was seeing. He knew his mother was dead, but it was like his body was reacting on instinct, frantic to reach out and throw his arms around her.

   Narcissa looked like she’d just been slapped in the face. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, oh, oh – I – you don’t really mean that.”

   Draco shut his eyes briefly as the weight of his grief threatened to come crashing down on him. “You have no idea.”

   Narcissa was shaking her head, a bright smile on her bright red lips that didn’t really reach her eyes. She was still so beautiful, Draco thought sadly, forcing his eyes to stay open. Like a swan, a picture of elegance from another era. “You’re just tired,” she said positively. “And I promise your aunt Bella will be giving you a full apology. Everything will be fine.”

   “No it won’t!” exploded Draco with such force Hermione jumped away from him. “Don’t you see, everything is so far from fine!”

   Narcissa had also jumped back, eyes blinking back tears. She stared at Draco, mouth open in shock as the water cascading down the staircase pooled around her feet. “Draco,” she said eventually, her voice little more than a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

   Draco felt the frustration bubbling through him, the helplessness and anger of the situation he’d found himself in.

   “Kidnapped, beaten up, no tea for hours,” he said flippantly through a clenched jaw. “It takes its toll.”

   Her lip trembled, her hands fluttered and she stepped back and forth.

   “I...” she said, searching for words as a single tear fell down her cheek. “I was so worried, I just wanted...it’s not safe here.”

   Draco sighed, guilt creeping into his innards.

   He could see it now, it wasn’t hard to understand. The way the tears never seemed far from spilling, the anxious movements and forced smiles. The way she defended his father.

   He was twelve years old again.

   This Narcissa had never been pushed over the edge, had never had to face the ugly truth of what her husband was prepared to do, what lengths he was willing to go. The people he was willing to sacrifice. This woman was just like his mother had been, before Draco and she insulated themselves from the unbearable world that surrounded them. Before they resolved themselves to escape.

   Draco could feel Hermione and Ron watching him anxiously out of the corner of his eyes. “I know it’s not,” he said kindly to her, falling back into the familiar patter from when he was a child. It was appalling to think any good had come from the attack he had been forced to participate in on Hogwarts, but from those ashes the true Narcissa Malfoy had risen, the woman who had rebelled against Lucius and his Dark Lord.

   He was just looking at her shadow now, the creature she’d been forced to become.

“But I can’t leave,” he said sadly, he knew she just wanted them to hide away from the carnage, it was the only way she’d learned to cope over the years. “I have to stay and find my friends.”

   At that, it was like Narcissa suddenly noticed there were two other people standing in the increasingly flooded corridor with them. She blinked, her tears forgotten. “Do I know you?” she asked, straightening up as her gaze switched between Ron and Hermione. He could feel the ‘good behaviour’ kicking in.

   Hermione kept eye contact with her, pressing her tongue into the back of her teeth as she deliberated. “Yes,” she said, which surprised Draco. “We met at the Quidditch world cup.”

   “Oh,” he found himself saying out loud. He hadn’t meant to, and tried instantly to regain his composure, but he’d lost count of the times he wished his mother could have lived to meet Hermione. And here, in the wrong universe, she had.

   “I don’t remember that,” said Narcissa quietly, and Draco’s jaw clenched, his remorse pushed aside. He wandered if Lucius was as fond of persuasion and memory altering charms as he was in Draco’s world.

   Her eyes settled on Ron. “You’re a Weasley though, aren’t you?”

   “Yeah,” said Ron, defensively crossing his arm. “So?”

   Narcissa pursed her lips, then reached out her hand again to Draco. “I really think we should be going now Draco.”

   He sighed, pity welling up in him. It was actually easier to see his mum this way, he was able to distance himself from the magnificent woman he’d lost. Guessing from the way she was looking at Ron, there was something wrong with his family. They were killed too early for Draco to remember them in his own world, but the fact that Voldemort sought them out hinted they were probably on the opposite side to his father.

   “What?” demanded Ron. “So it’s okay to hang out with murderers, but ‘oh no, those Weasleys, they’re the _real_ trouble.’” He jabbed a finger at Narcissa as she cringed away. “I can tell you a thing or two about _your_ family-”

   “Ron!” snapped Hermione, glaring at him. “You are not helping,” she said between clenched teeth.

   Draco shook his head. He’d forgotten how varied and colourful his mother’s prejudices could be. If someone told her another person was no good, that was it, they were blacklisted for life. It had taken him years to convince her that Blaise Zabini was in fact not just a carbon copy of her mother, and not going to marry and murder him in his sleep like Mrs Zabini’s multiple previous husbands. Whether it was homicide or, as Draco greatly suspected with Ron’s family, nothing more than being ginger, Narcissa was a stubborn woman when it came to intolerance. But he guessed he had to at least try and calm her fears.

   “Mother,” he said, the word flowing naturally from his mouth. “These _are_ my friends, and there are others here against their will, I’m not leaving without them.”

   Narcissa confusion quickly turned to anger, as he thought it probably might. “Draco Malfoy,” she said sternly. “We are leaving this instant, there is nothing for us here, this is nothing to do with us!”

   Draco felt a lump rise in his throat. He had his mother back, if only for a moment, and they were arguing. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice wavering dangerously. He didn’t want the others to see he was upset, and he didn’t want to confuse his mother any more than she already was. “But I won’t leave them.”

   “Sirius?” Narcissa spluttered, “that werewolf, Andromeda’s girl?” She looked incredulous and balled her hands on her hips. “They made their choices, let them suffer the consequences.”

   “Their _choice,”_ spat outDraco, his anger flaring again. “Was to defend me and the people I care about! So no, I am not leaving them in the hands of that lunatic!”

   Narcissa visibly cringed away from him. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t talk about him like that. Let’s just go home.”

   Something stirred in Draco’s stomach at the thought of home, just the two of them, doing the dishes, arguing with the paintings, taming the topiary. But that was a lifetime ago, and he wasn’t going back there.

   “I can’t go home,” he told her honestly. “I’m sorry.”

   “What are you talking about?” she asked again, twisting her wedding and engagement rings with her long fingers, the way she did when she was nervous. “Of course you can, there’s nothing keeping you here.”

   He took a deep breath as the thoughts swirled in his brain. Could he just tell her the truth? Harry’s mum had figured it out before he’d left, and Sirius. But then, they weren’t on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Telling Narcissa he was from an alternate universe now might just get him shipped off to St Mungo’s and then he’d never find his way home.

   “We’re not going anywhere-” began Ron hotly, but Draco interrupted.

   “There’s a girl,” he said, clinging on to his composure. He felt Hermione by his side again. “She’s been taken somewhere and I’m worried she might be hurt.”

   Something strange flickered across Narcissa’s face. “A girl?” she said.

   Draco nodded, sensing he was on the right track. “It’s...” he felt his throat catch but he pushed on through the guilt. “It’s my fault she’s here, and I’m not leaving without her, she’s innocent, defenceless.” He wasn’t about to leave Sirius and the others behind, but at least they were fully grown adults and had most likely scraped their way out of a few dodgy situations. Sarah was little more than a child. A child with a fierce temper, true, but that would only get her so far with brutes like that ogre who’d carried her off. If they could get Sarah first, the adults would be a lot simpler. He hoped.

   Narcissa blinked and studied her son with a loose expression of wonder on her face. “Is she...important to you?”

   “Yes,” replied Draco without a moment’s pause.

   Narcissa shook her shoulders back and pulled that smile onto her face again. “Well,” she said brightly. “I’m sure it’s just another silly mistake. Let’s go find her, and then we can all leave together.”

   “You’ll take us to her?” spluttered Hermione as Draco felt relief wash through him. Narcissa pressed her palms together and inhaled calmly.

   “If she’s here with Draco, then I’m sure there will be no trouble explaining the misunderstanding to whoever’s looking after her.”

   “But,” said Hermione, biting her lip. Draco didn’t know whether or not to interrupt her; his mother’s mood would be fickle and could easily change on a whim. He had a feeling she’d got it into her head that Sarah was some sort of girlfriend of his, and as far away from the truth as this was, if her romantic sympathies were going to get them out of here he didn’t want to do anything to contradict that.

   But he needn’t of worried, Hermione was on the ball as always. “We have no idea where she is,” she explained. “And they took our wands.”

   “Oh,” said Narcissa, her eyes switching expectantly to Draco, no doubt waiting to hear what he thought they should do. He resisted the urge to rub his forehead, which was still thudding with that terrible headache.

   “Do you have any idea where they might be keeping her?” he prompted kindly. It was unnerving how quickly he slipped back into the parental role he’d once mastered so well.

   “I’m not sure,” she said, distressed she couldn’t answer the question better. “I just asked the first person I saw where you were, and they sent me to an empty office. So then I just started going through the floors one by one.”

   “And you didn’t see anyone else?” asked Hermione gently. It sent a shiver of warmth through Draco that she seemed to know how to handle his mother without being told.

   Narcissa bit her lip. “Well yes, I saw a few people. But not many, and they didn’t know where Draco was either.”

   “Who did you see?” asked Hermione in the same gentle tone. “Where were they, what were they doing?”

   Narcissa bristled ever so slightly and Draco cringed. “I’m sorry,” she said curtly in that voice she used when she pretended to be polite. “But I don’t know your name?”

   Hermione didn’t seem fazed though. “Hermione Granger,” she supplied without a hint of animosity. “I’m a student at Hogwarts.”

   “Aren’t you Harry Potter’s girlfriend?”

   A gagging noise pulled at the back of Draco’s throat at the same moment as Ron snapped “no!” hotly and Hermione laughed.

   “Not unless you believe everything you read in _The Quibbler_ Mrs Malfoy,” she said demurely. Draco would have been impressed again at her placating tone if his head didn’t feel like it currently contained a tornado. Surely Harry wasn’t dating Hermione, he didn’t feel that way about her, they were just friends? He knew he was being ridiculous really, that even if the two of them were romantically involved their relationship existed in another reality, but his thoughts instantly screamed back that if it existed here it could exist at home.

   And then he got a grip on himself and remembered the Ministry and school were under attack, Harry was lost inside the Floo network and Sarah was at the mercy of the most evil wizard that ever lived. This jealousy thing was exhausting; this wasn’t even his Hermione.

   “But you are is friend aren’t you,” continued Narcissa, before turning to Ron. “And you.”

   “And me,” said Draco firmly. He could see where she was going with this. He debated once again whether or not telling the truth would be the better option; how could he possibly convince this woman that her son was friends with Harry Potter knowing what he did about his counterpart? But it would be too farfetched, too outlandish to convince her, he knew that. He just hated lying to her.

   “It’s difficult to explain,” he said instead, reacting to her stony face. She probably thought he was playing a trick on her. That would seem more logical to her than the idea that he could throw his allegiances in with Voldemort’s number one enemy. “Harry’s not here, but yes these are his friends, and I’m with them. We all just want to find the people being held captive and get the Hell out of here. Because you’re right,” he added, taking her soft, slender hand. “This isn’t anything to do with us, we just want to leave.”

   She shifted her weight uncomfortably from side to side, eying up Ron and Hermione. “But...you’re father-”

   “Never needs to know.” Draco hated the words as they came out of his mouth. He swore he’d never say them again.

   “But he will,” replied his mother, fear in her eyes. “Of course he will, he’ll know when they’re gone, and we can’t pretend to not know a thing about it, he’ll see right through us, we’ll be in trouble!”

   Draco sighed as the tears sprung back into her eyes. “How about,” he said slowly, trying to reign her back in to refocus. “We just go find my friend Sarah, I really am worried sick about her.”

   It worked like a charm. The tears were blinked away and a light smile perked up her face again. “Oh yes,” she breathed. “Of course we must go see her, I want to meet her.”

   “Fantastic,” said Draco, trying to keep his tone calm. She was like a horse he desperately didn’t want to scare into bolting. “So who did you see when you were looking for me?” He deliberately used the singular rather than the plural – me rather than we – if she could forget even a little bit about Harry Potter’s friends she would be a lot more amenable.

   “Well,” she began thoughtfully, placing her free hand on her chest. “I arrived through the fireplace upstairs and the whole place was flooding – that beautiful gold fountain was all broken and gushing out water like there was no tomorrow.” Draco nodded encouragingly, so she continued. “There wasn’t anyone there though, so I used one of the folds to go straight to the seventh floor where your father had said he was-”

   “Hang on,” interrupted Hermione, making Draco wince. He hoped his mother wouldn’t lash out at her. But with his hands still wrapped around hers, Narcissa just turned her large green eyes to the girl and raised her brows. “What do you mean ‘folds?’” asked Hermione.

   “Well,” said Narcissa, slightly confused. “This whole space is compressed, of course there are areas where the layers overlap.”

   Hermione only took a beat, then smiled broadly. “Of course there would be,” she said, clearly not understanding at all. “How silly of me.” Narcissa nodded, satisfied, then turned back to Draco expectantly. He had no idea what she meant about folds either, but it was more important to keep her on track rather than distract or confuse her with superfluous questions.

“You went to the seventh floor?” prompted Draco, but then he turned to Ron. “Isn’t that where you thought the Quidditch offices were?”

   The red head nodded, his expression lingering warily on Narcissa. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Think so.”

   Draco turned happily back to his mother. “What did you see there, was there a lot of people?” He didn’t want to divulge just yet that was exactly where they’d been heading before they’d found her.

   “There were,” started Narcissa, “but a lot of them were leaving. In fact, I don’t know if anybody was left by the time I travelled back up to the first floor.”

   “Where did they go?” asked Draco, his stomach in knots. What if they were too late to rescue Sarah? He would never forgive himself if she got hurt.

   “They were all going to Courtroom Ten,” said Narcissa, proud she had an exact answer this time. But Draco’s insides fell.

   “There’s no easy way to get in there,” he informed Ron and Hermione. “Maybe we should sweep level seven in case she’s still there, then if we absolutely have to, go check out level ten.”

   Courtroom Ten took up the entirety of the Ministry’s lowest level. It was where they held their biggest trials. It was the last place he’d seen his father.

    It was the last place he wanted to go either, but it figured that’s where everyone would congregate. It was virtually impenetrable. If the Death Eaters were held up there, there would be no way to sneak up on them, no way to even scout to see if any prisoners were captive there.

Draco nodded his head. “Let’s check level seven first.”

   Narcissa smiled, glad to have a plan of action. “This way,” she said eagerly, twisting her hand in his and pulling him back towards the door. “There aren’t any folds here, and the elevators have stopped working.”

   “Yeah,” grumbled Ron, crossing his arms and glaring at the torrent speeding down the stairwell beyond the open door. “I wonder why?”

   “It’s only two floors down,” said Hermione diplomatically.

   “The Thames enters into the building, and you want to go swimming in it. Marvelous.”

   “Oh don’t be silly Ron,” she replied as Draco followed his sanguine mother into the freezing waters. “The Thames would be _much_ dirtier than this.”

 

***

 

   Harry was seriously regretting not taking the time to find the stairs. He’d been too concerned the Death Eaters would come back and find him, so he’d waded across the Ministry’s atrium and forced open the elevators. He’d assumed they’d be powered by magic, and therefore still working, but after prying open his third elevator shaft he’d had to accept that wasn’t the case. The first one the lift had been stuck on the fist level, refusing to move, the second was apparently several floors down, and Harry had to grab onto the sliding door to stop himself being swept down the lift shaft with all the cascading water. The third was only one floor down, and the water started churning and bubbling back up towards him almost as soon as the doors were opened.

   He had glanced over his shoulder, trying to hear if anyone was sloshing around in the corridors leading into the atrium, but with the broken fountain still pumping out water at a ferocious rate he couldn’t hear anything. He’d also looked for a sign for the stairway, but there wasn’t one. So that’s when he’d decided his best bet would be to climb down the second lift shaft, the one with the actual lift stuck far below, and force his way out at another level.

   He really should have looked for the stairs. He’d performed a few charms to give him extra grip and protection on his hands, but he was essentially now trying to climb down a slippery metal cable with a waterfall pounding on his head.

   He gasped for breath, and spluttered out as much water as he could. He could barely see where he was going, and wasn’t sure if he’d reached the second floor or not. He leant out to try and feel the wall, maybe shift out of the water’s main path, but the gripping charm couldn’t take only one hand being on the cable, and with a sickening lurch his fingers slipped free, throwing him down the lift shaft.

   He hit the water after only a few seconds of falling, blasting all the air from his lungs. He scrambled back up to the surface, arms flailing, fighting for breath. He wasn’t a very strong swimmer, but with the thick metal cable to hold onto he was able to drag his mouth above water and keep it there, despite the torrent slamming down on his head.

   The water was freezing, and Harry found his body shaking uncontrollably. He could barely feel his hands clinging to the cable anymore, and realised he couldn’t stay here long or he’d risk hypothermia. He let go with one hand to shield his eyes and try and decipher if he was near an exit or not. The top half of the double doors were visible about a foot above the water line.

   With a determined push he kicked his way over to the exit and clung to the lip of the door frame. He braced his feet on the right hand door edge, took several deep breaths as he tried to steady his heart and prepare himself to go under the water. He wished he’d learnt how to do a bubble head charm, but he’d never bothered. He promised himself if he got through this he would get Hermione to teach him first thing. That and how not to get himself in trouble with Death Eaters every fifteen minutes. There must be a spell for that too surely.

   He lit his wand instead and ducked his head into the icy cold depths, feeling the current swirling around him as the water fell from the atrium above and slowly leaked either side of the lift below him. The wand showed him where the two lift doors met, so he wedged it in his jeans and forced his numb fingers into the crack. It was much harder to prise the doors apart with the weight of the water pressing down on them, and Harry had to resurface twice for air, all whilst the water level was rising. The second time he’d glanced up to see if the Death Eaters were looking down the shaft at him, but the coast was still clear.

   On his third attempt, the doors finally budged. Water began shooting through the small gap, slamming his body against the door as it rushed out into the corridor beyond and emptying his lungs of what little air he had left. Panic burst to life in his chest where the oxygen had just been. Never mind hypothermia, if he didn’t get these doors open in the next minute he was going to drown right there and then.

   He forced his feet back against the edge of the door frame, and slowly but surely powered his arm up to the small gap between the doors. There were spots in front of his eyes, but he dug deep and started pushing against the door, trying to make it slide back enough for him to squeeze through. The three elevator doors he’d tried up in the foyer had each suddenly found a biting point and slid all the way open after about a foot, and he prayed this one would do the same.

   Sure enough, just when he thought he was going to pass out, the doors sprung apart, and the water rushed out, taking Harry with it. He tumbled to the floor as the corridor became a river, the hallway and offices flooding instantly. He sat in waters that lapped around his waist, and coughed his guts up before resting back against the wall and taking several long breaths. He wiped his glasses dry as best he could, and healed the raw mess his palms had become after descending the metal cable. The plaque on the wall told him he’d only made it so far as the second floor, home to Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, the Wizengamot Administration Services and the Auror Headquarters. He couldn’t believe he’d not gone more than one floor down, but he figured the point was to get away from the Death Eaters; he could go the rest of the way by stairs if he ever found them.

   He stood up, his jeans and t-shirt plastered to his body, his trainers squelching uncomfortably. The water must still be flowing outwards, as it only came up to his ankles despite the volume still surging from the elevator shaft. Wherever it was going, he was grateful – he didn’t really feel like swimming right now.

   Up ahead, down where the corridor became a T junction, Harry suddenly heard the tell-tell noise of someone wading through the water. Considering the day he’d had so far, he was going to bet whoever it was was not his friend.

   He looked frantically around; he could go left or right, or dart up ahead and try and hide in an office again. Whatever he did he was going to make just as much noise as whoever was approaching him.

   “What is the meaning of this!” screeched a woman’s voice, and Harry’s heart took a nose dive. There was no mistaking that voice. “I am going to have someone’s guts for garters, these boots are seventeen years old and _utterly_ irreplaceable!”

   He quickly made his mind up to go right, it was as good a direction as any, and leapt forward with the current bolstering behind him.

   “Who’s there!” The woman screamed, and the pace of her splashing doubled. “You will answer me, do you know who I am!”

   A crazy lune with delusions of grandeur, thought Harry as he pelted down the corridor, water spraying up the walls as his feet slammed down onto the carpet below.

   He rounded the corner, and there stood Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry reeled back from her, his feet sending out a shower of water. “Baby Potter!” she cried, her face lighting up in glee.

   “But,” he spluttered, looking wildly around him, his wand raised. “You were behind me!”

   She was so happy she had to think a minute then blink before answering. “Oh this whole place is compressed space,” she said conversationally, waving her wand about casually. Harry knew better to know she wouldn’t be able to blast him if he moved an inch though, so he remained exactly where he was, his heart racing as he tried to consider escape options. “You can’t fit a massive ten story building under London without hitting at least two tube lines, they had to work around things. Handy for hoping about.”

   She grinned like a Cheshire cat and sloshed towards him. He jerked backwards, and jabbed his wand at her. “Stay away!” he warned, but she just cackled.

   “Ooh you are a funny one,” she said, twirling a curl of hair around one of her free fingers. “My master’s looking all over the country for you, and here you are, come to join the party.”

   “I’m here for my friends,” growled Harry, still moving backwards around the corner of the corridor.

   “Ah yes,” said Bellatrix, her eyes widening dementedly. “The dogs and the brats, we’ve been looking after them.”

   Harry felt his anger flare. “If you’ve hurt them-!”

   “Oh relax,” she said with a wave of her hand. “They’re still in one piece, all fingers and toes intact.” She tilted her head in thought. “I think.”

   “I’m the one you want,” tried Harry again like he had at Sirius’ house. “Let them go, I’ll come quietly.” More or less.

   But Bellatrix just laughed at him. “The world doesn’t revolved around you,” she said in that sing-song voice. “Honestly, time moves on when you leave the room you know?”

   He just blinked. “But, you said-”   She waved her hand.

   “Old news, my master has the one he needs. But,” she added, a wicked smirk creeping over her face. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on you anyway, and I’d just _love_ to be the one to give you to him.”

   Harry had enough. “You wish,” he snarled, his wand already flying over his head, spell hurtling towards Bellatrix’s head. She screamed and dived out of the way, but not before her own curse was released. Harry tripped over himself in his haste to get away, splattering the rising water all over the place as he careered away from the crazy witch.

   He had to find cover, he was a sitting duck out in the corridor. He fired a spell and ripped one of the office doors off its hinges to send it soaring at her head on. That should at least give him a few seconds.

   “Get _back_ here!” she yelled, but Harry didn’t look round. Instead he threw himself round the next corner he came to, then spied a pair of double doors. You’ll have to try harder than that, he thought to himself as he yanked them open and darted inside.

 

***

 

   Sarah hugged her knees and rocked back and forth on the polished mahogany table. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been locked in the office with all the portraits, but it was long enough for all the fight to blow out of her and the fear to really take hold.

   Why did Voldemort want her? He’d wanted Harry only an hour or so ago, what had changed? There wasn’t anything special about her, she didn’t even belong in this universe, how could he even know she existed? The thoughts sent an icy coldness racing through her and she shivered.

   “Why don’t you put some logs on the fire?” suggested a witch kindly. The plaque under her portrait read ‘Roberta Charlton, Head of The British Quidditch Association, 1958-66.’ She had a mud-splattered set of robes on and a battered whistle around her neck, whilst her make-up was pristine and her beehive hair-do immaculate. Half the subjects of the paintings had swapped about in the excitement however, so Sarah couldn’t be sure that this portrait really was Roberta.

   “I haven’t got a wand,” she said, head heavy on her knees. “I can’t light it.”

   “Oh,” said the portrait who might have been Roberta.

   “It’s okay,” sighed Sarah. “Thanks for the suggestion anyway.”

   The paintings had been doing their best to keep Sarah’s spirits up since Voldemort and Bellatrix had locked her in the office, but they were more anxious and jumpy than she was, if that was possible. They’d witnessed all the Ministry employees being frozen by the giant wasps Hermione had called Wranglers, then watched helplessly as the Death Eaters had taken over the building. Once Sarah had been abandoned with them, a man call Archibald had announced he was going on an recognisance mission to see what was happening in the rest of the Ministry. He had returned soaking wet and even more confused than before, talking about some sort of flood in the upper levels.

   Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and prayed the others were okay. She hoped Draco had managed to stay with Hermione and Ron at least; Sirius might still be all alone, getting his head smashed in by Bellatrix, and she had no idea what had become of Remus and the young woman Tonks.

   She had never felt so helpless, not even in Germany. At least then she thought it was just her that was in danger, now she knew people she cared about were in trouble and she couldn’t even get herself free let alone help them. She was useless, nothing but a scared child, she should have done what Harry said and stayed hidden, that way they wouldn’t have to worry themselves about saving her.

   She balled her fists and fought against the bitter tears teetering on her eyelids. It wasn’t her fault they had taken her wand, or that she was too small to fight them. She just needed to do the best she could. She couldn’t just lie down and take it, she was a white wolf with fierce red eyes, she wouldn’t let them break her.

   She unfurled her legs to get down and began walking around the long oval table, feeling the blood pump back into her limbs. Once she felt steady enough she began to jog, trailing her hand on the smooth surface of the table, then switched directions before she became dizzy going round and round the same way too many times.

   “That’s it lass!” cried Archibald, crammed into a single frame with another disgruntled looking man. “Keep your spirits up, the game’s not over yet.”

   “Don’t you let them bully you,” called out Roberta shaking her fist encouragingly.   “They’re nothing but a bunch of cheats!”

   She stopped running at the end of the table and yanked at the door handles. Unsurprisingly they were still locked, but she felt better for giving them a good tug. “Why are they doing this?” she asked the paintings. She was done moping, she might as well find out as much information as she could before Bellatrix came back.

   Archibald and his companion shrugged. “No clue,” he said.

   “Not a jot,” said the other.

   “I heard,” said Roberta as another couple of portraits gathered around her. “One man say something about a prophecy.”

   That couldn’t be good, thought Sarah. “What did he say?”

   Roberta sighed. “Not much,” she said. “Other than they were here to fulfill a prophecy, and Potter was the key – that’s you dear isn’t it?”

   Sarah slumped down into one of the plush chairs. “Yeah,” she admitted. “But it’s much more likely to be my brother, this is more his kind of thing.”

   “You mean the Harry boy don’t you?” said Archibald’s friend. He had a large tobacco pipe he kept hitting Archibald with unintentionally. It didn’t stop him from smoking it though. “Wasn’t aware he had a sister?”

   Sarah sighed, very tired. “Yeah,” she said, picking at her black nail varnish that had needed re-doing even before she’d started running around with Death Eaters on her tail. “It’s complicated.”

   There was a creaking noise outside the door, and Sarah leapt to her feet.

   “Did you hear that dear?” hissed Roberta, hand on her chest.

   “I think someone’s outside,” Sarah whispered, backing away. She started looking wildly around the room. “I need a weapon, anything!” It looked like the place had been cleared though; there wasn’t so much as a pen lying around that she could use.

   “Quick!” said a tiny old lady with a crazy white afro. “I think the bottom of this frame is lose, you could pull it off.” Sarah didn’t need telling twice. She vaulted over to the woman, and pulled the hefty gilded stick of wood from the frame, along with the plaque that read ‘Sir Daniel Wandsworth, Deputy Head of The British Quidditch Association, 1918-23.’

   She backed up into the empty fireplace, eyes glued to the doors as someone called out “Hello?” from just outside. Her guard perhaps? Was there just one or more?

   Was someone coming for her?

“Be brave, girl,” said a young handsome man, some sports ambassador for Britain in the forties according to his plaque. “Don’t go down without a fight.”

   “I won’t,” growled Sarah.

   “Are you mad?” scoffed Archibald’s companion with the pipe. “Live to see another day girl, you do whatever you can to survive, even if that means doing what they say.”

   “Can I help you?” said the man’s voice outside. Sarah was surprised they hadn’t put a silencer charm on the door. Then she shuddered to think what they might have done to her if she’d tried to shout for help. Maybe they preferred to scare rather than force her into submission.

   Her feet shifted on top of the coals as she strained to hear out for the response. The tone sounded cheerful, but it was too far away to decipher the words, or even tell anything about who was speaking. It was possibly a woman, but she couldn’t be sure.

   “Bloody Hell!” cried the man, and then there was a noise that sounded like a chair or something similar bouncing off the door and sliding to the floor. Had he just jumped to his feet?

   “What’s he doing here?” he cried, and Sarah’s stomach convulsed. She tried to tell herself the guard would never talk that in front of Voldemort, it was too disrespectful, but that was the only person she could imagine striding towards her. She tried to control her breathing, but she was panicking, the gasps coming out ragged and uneven.

   The other person, or people as it sounded like, must have been getting closer, as she managed to catch the last word, definitely in a woman’s voice: “-misunderstanding,” she said pleasantly.

   The guard seemed to consider what she said as he didn’t answer for a few seconds. “Bellatrix gave us strict instructions. Ma’am.” Sarah felt he tacked that last bit on. Who was he talking to?

   Whoever it was had got much closer in the time it had taken for him to deliberate. “Oh that,” she heard her say with a tinkling laugh. “All just a silly misunderstanding, no harm’s been done thankfully but I will be having words with her later.”

   That was the second time the mystery woman had used the word misunderstanding, and Sarah couldn’t help but allow a little flicker of hope run up her spine. Maybe they would let her go?

A voice rumbled, this one male, and too low for her to understand. So the woman wasn’t alone.

   “Oh, no,” said the guard, with such resolution Sarah could almost see him shaking his head. “Definitely can’t help you there, orders came from the boss man, there’s no wiggle room unless it comes from him.” There was a beat, before he added “Sorry,” in a more subdued tone.

   “But,” said the woman, obviously flustered. “This is ridiculous, what could he want with her, it’s a mistake she’s even here?”

   Sarah grabbed the fireplace as she jerked and several lumps of coal scattered away from under her feet. They were talking about her, they had to be. Was this woman trying to _free_ her? How did everybody seem to know she was in the wrong reality, had there been some sort of bloody news bulletin?

   “Oh yeah,” came the guy’s voice. “I absolutely stopped to ask what all his evil schemes were when he personally asked me to watch over some brat.”

   Sarah thought the sarcasm was a bit much, and obviously somebody on the other side of the door felt the same.

   The second he stopped speaking, the unmistakable hiss of magic was flying through the air, and a heartbeat later the big double doors slammed inwards, making Sarah and all the paintings jump, before the dull thud of a body hitting the carpet filtered through the wood.

   “What did you _do!”_ cried the woman’s voice in shock. Several voices muttered in response, before another spell hit the door itself, and the lock clicked undone.

   The panic flew straight back into Sarah’s limbs and she scramble to get back into the fire place as far as she could. These people could still mean her harm.

   But then the most welcome face in the world poked out from behind the door as it creaked open.

   _“Draco!”_ cried Sarah, her voice breaking as she flung the woken stick aside and sprinted towards the boy entering the room.

     His face split into a huge relieved smile as she collided into him. It was only then did Sarah realise he was soaking wet, and now she was too. She didn’t care.

   “I’m so sorry,” he gasped, his voice unable to decide if he was laughing or crying. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

   “It’s okay,” she choked back. “I’m fine, honestly.”

   “Where did you go?” he cried, pulling her away from him so he could look her over. “Are you hurt, what happened?”

   “I said I’m fine,” she said, giggling in relief as she wiped a tear away. “We apparated as soon as we were out of the room, I didn’t even know what floor I was on.”

   “I never should have let you out of my sight,” he said, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around her again.

   “Shut up,” she laughed, patting him on the back. It was then she realised there were three other people watching them.

   “Oh,” she said, jumping away from Draco’s embrace, only to be replaced by Hermione’s equally wet arms.

   “Sorry we took so long,” she said sincerely as Ron squeezed her shoulder. When they let her go, Sarah was left looking at a beautiful blonde woman.

   She was perhaps in her mid-forties, but there were only a few tell-tale lines that hinted that. Her features were slight, her eyes like emeralds, her makeup and hair so well groomed she could have been a celebrity, even though she, like all the others, was dripping with freezing cold water. She clasped slender hands together and her eyes kept flicking expectantly between Draco and Sarah. Then, when she felt Sarah’s gaze on her, she seemed to flinch away, and after a moment of dithering, turned to the prone figure of the unconscious guard out in the corridor.

   “You really didn’t need to do that,” she said, her voice catching half way through.

   “Sorry,” said Hermione, not sounding that sorry at all. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She held a wand out for the blond woman to take. “And I’ll ask the next time before I borrow this.”

   The woman’s eyebrows shot up, and with trembling fingers took the wand that Sarah presumed to be hers. Hermione smiled jovially at her, winked at Sarah, then stepped from the room to start going the guard’s pockets.

   “Sarah,” said Draco. It was startling how his voice could sound so measured, tense and expectant in just two syllables. She was instantly edgy as he placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’d like you to meet Narcissa Malfoy.” He took a small breath, his eyes fixed on her. “My mother.”

   A ripple ran through Sarah’s entire body. She wasn’t sure if it was shock or confusion, but it made her knees want to buckle from underneath her.

   “It’s lovely to meet you Sarah,” said Narcissa, a practiced smile lighting up her face. She extended one of her slim hands towards Sarah, who blinked at it a second.

   “Uh,” she breathed, then took the cold hand to shake it once. “Nice...to meet you too.” She knew she sounded stilted, but this woman was supposed to be dead. She reasoned this world was very different to the one she and Draco came from, that there were a million things that varied. But his mother’s death was an event that shaped Draco so profoundly, it was a part of his make up as much as anything physical. For her to be standing here, alive, it was the most wrong thing that had happened since the two of them had crossed over.

   Narcissa picked up on her reluctance, and suddenly pulled her hand back, clutching it to her chest, her sparkling eyes flicking to Draco for explanation.

   “I guess you weren’t expecting to meet my mum,” said Draco, rubbing Sarah’s shoulders. “She wasn’t supposed to be here either, she came to help us leave.”

   “Oh,” said Sarah again, trying so muster up a poker face. “Thank you so much,” she uttered, forcing a smile onto her face.

   It was enough for Narcissa, who’s cherry red lips responded with a matching beam. “It’s the least I could do,” she said, reaching out and brushing Sarah’s hair from her face. It was such a familiar gesture Sarah didn’t know what to make of it, or have time to respond. “My silly sister does like to jump to the wrong conclusions. Do you always wear your hair like that?”

   The question caught Sarah of guard, and she blinked, looking to Draco for a clue to how she should react. He smiled at her with the slightest shake of his head, a sigh barely escaping his mouth. “Yes,” he replied to his mother. “She does. Shall we try and find our way out?”

   “Ah!” cried Hermione, exuberant. A moment later she rushed back into the room, crying, “Look what I found!” In her hands she displayed her bounty; several wands.

   “That’s mine!” exclaimed Sarah in delight, snapping up her beloved wand as Draco and Ron did the same with equal cries of delight.

   “Where did you find them?” asked Narcissa, worriedly looking around.

   “They were literally in the drawer of the desk he was sitting at. You think they might have tried a bit harder than that!”

   “Maybe they didn’t have enough guards?” said Ron shrugging his shoulders. “Who cares, we got what we wanted, let’s get the Hell out of here.”

   “Yes,” said a voice by the door. “Good idea.”

   Everybody spun around, apart from Draco and Sarah who could already see who’d just emerged from the corridor. Draco’s hands dug into Sarah’s shoulders, and suddenly she was pressed to his chest, his arms around her protectively. She could feel him vibrating in rage.

   Hermione and Ron backed away from the man now blocking their exit. He carried a cane with a silver serpent head, his robes were black, and his silver blonde hair flowed down past his shoulders.

   Narcissa seemed to almost faint, but then it was like she thought the better of it, catching herself mid-swoon. Her hands fluttered to her chest and she anxiously took a step forward.

   “Lucius,” she said, the wide smile contradicting the tears in her eyes and trembling through her fingers. “There’s been a _terrible_ misunderstanding.”

 

***

 

   Harry only had a moment to register what was on the other side of the double doors before launching himself through them and away from Bellatrix’s latest hex. It was like a children’s adventure playground, all towering wooden structures, metal bars, ropes and camouflage netting. His first thought was that he’d accidently wandered into an army training ground, but as he ran into the maze like arena he figured maybe he wasn’t far off. This floor did hold the aurora training facilities, perhaps this was some sort of obstacle course for them?

   He darted around a square wooden tower as another spell went flying above his head and scrambled up slope with knotted ropes hanging down so he could heave himself up. Once at the top he rolled on the ground underneath some netting then threw himself through an opening in the floor, scaling down a fireman’s pole.

   At the bottom, he discovered he was not alone. He found himself in an underground passageway, with only a little light filtering through the wooden slats of the walls. A young man, perhaps in his mid twenties, was stood with a stopwatch in his hand. He was a stocky fellow with a goatee, and he was frozen mid-roar , his focus on several people in athletic gear sprinting down the corridor. Like Seamus Finnigan, some of them were even suspended mid-air.

   There was a cry from Bellatrix, and Harry’s legs spurred into action, hurtling him down the tunnel between the frozen people, wood chippings scattering under his feet. Bellatrix must surely be right behind him. Left, right, over an ominous looking hole, then up a rope ladder that brought him back into the belly of the obstacle course. There was no sign of the way he had come in.

   “Baby _Potter,”_ cooed Bellatrix, her voice echoing around the various structures. “You can’t hide from me forever.”

   Harry stumbled his way across a rope bridge, wand between his teeth as another spell went whooshing past his ear. He need to get to a vantage point and fight back, but right now he couldn’t see anything useful. He tripped back onto steady ground and jumped down a short flight of stairs which lead to a walkway filled with walls and bollards to hoist himself over. He scaled the first one, then crouched behind it and fired a curse back at Bellatrix, causing her to howl.

   “You little brat!”

   Harry scuttled away, keeping below the wall, winding his way around several more before he was forced to jump over again. Bellatrix was perched on a bollard like a cat, and squealed triumphantly on catching sight of him. Once again her spell only missed him by inches, and not for the first time Harry was very glad for all those bludgers Oliver Wood had made them duck during Quidditch practice.

   As he vaulted to the ground he teetered to a halt, his heart leaping to his mouth. Beyond the lip where he was standing was a big black hole of nothingness. Swinging gently above this were hundreds of metal rings attached to ropes from the ceiling. The edges of the chasm were far too far out for Harry to see if they had lips for him to walk along. Surely even the auroras wouldn’t just have a bottomless pit lying around, thought Harry, desperately looking for a way around it, or some sort of safety net below, but there was nothing. This was insane?

   But, insane or not, it was the hoops or Bellatrix, so before he could talk himself out of it he shoved his wand in his pocket and reached up for the nearest ring.

   One, two, three, he swung out into the abyss, his heart thumping in his throat. Bellatrix shot out another spell in his general direction from wherever she was amongst the walls and pillars. If he could just get to the edge, he might be able to lose her. He hoped her upper body strength wasn’t as good as his, and if he got far enough away before she scaled the last wall he also hoped he’d be out of her firing range. He hoped she wouldn’t be able to shoot at him if she started traversing the rings.

   He hoped.

   His hand slipped from the next ring as he reached for it, and for a moment he flailed horribly, rocking back and forth while his body jerked like a fish on a line. He cried out as his legs kicked, but after a moment or two of gut wrenching panic, his fingers found cold metal again, and he heaved himself back upright.

   “Having fun?” Harry twisted as much as he dared to see Bellatrix standing on the lip, and delighted look on her face. He didn’t, think he just grabbed the next ring, then the next. His arms were on fire.

   Several spells went shooting past him, but they were all far too far away to risk doing any damage. He must be out of her range, just like he’d hoped he would be. Now he just prayed she didn’t know any spells that would set the ceiling on fire, or turn all the hoops and chains into spaghetti.

   Luckily, Bellatrix didn’t appear to be thinking that laterally. “Get back here!” she screeched in frustration, but Harry just grinned and kept his cramping arms swinging. Risking a look over his shoulder, he could see that Bellatrix had also pocketed her wand and was already a few rings away from the edge. His stomach lurched slightly at the ease with which she powered herself forward. She obviously wasn’t as weak as he’d hoped she would be.

   “I’d prefer you in one piece for my master,” the woman crowed as she clinked the rings from several feet away from Harry. “But if we have to scrape you off the bottom of this pit I’m sure he’ll understand.”

   “Why doesn’t he want me anymore?” Harry grunted, hoping to distract her a little from her pursuit. “You said he already has who he needs, who is it?”

   Her cackling laughter echoed off the walls hiding somewhere in the darkness. The light from the obstacle course was so dim now Harry was having trouble seeing and experienced a terrifying moment each time he reached for a ring in case he hadn’t stretched his hand quite far enough. He hadn’t missed yet, but he’d been expecting to see the other side of the room now, another platform lit up like the one they’d launched from. How many more rings could he swing on before one of them missed?

   “How clumsy, Baby Potter,” cooed Bellatrix. “As if I’d spill the beans. That’d spoil _all_ the fun.”

   Harry gritted his teeth and swung again. He was cursing his arrogance, thinking he’d have the upper hand on her because he had superior strength in his arms. What he was starting to realise was her strength was of a similar level, but she also had to weigh at least a stone or two less than him, and was skimming her body along the rings at an alarming rate. _Where_ was the other platform?

   The light was really dim now, and Harry was reaching for the rings more based on where he guessed them to be from the previous layout, rather than actually being able to see them. Every swing was a vault into nothingness.

   Until he smacked into the brick wall.

   “Gah!” he cried out, his fingers very nearly slipping from the hoop still within his grasp. Now he held onto it for dear life, shock racing through his brain as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Then he bounced off the wall again. And he reached out with the hand that was still flailing free and fumbled against his obstacle. There was definitely a solid wall in every direction he stretched.

   And then the awful truth dawned on him. This sea of dangling rings only had one entrance, one exit. And now Bellatrix was between him and it.

   The blood had gone rushing back into the arm that had found the wall, giving him pins and needles. He tried to shake them out, before kicking off the wall and reaching back to twist around and make his way towards the platform again.

   He almost lost his grip again. Bellatrix was only a couple of metres away from him.

   The horror must have shown on his face as Bellatrix’s laughter came out in peels again, delight contorting her shadowy face. “Going somewhere?” she taunted.

   Harry felt a fresh burst of energy light up him limbs, and he heaved his body up, pulling himself, one, two, three rings away. He didn’t bother to respond to Bellatrix, he assumed she would keep herself amused, and he was right.

   “Aw, stay and play with me,” he voice rang out. “I never get to have any fun.” She stretched her hand out to try and grab him, but Harry hauled his whole body up to the ring in his right hand, then used the exaggerated arch to swing back towards the demented witch, kicking her hard in the torso.

   She didn’t seem to understand what he was doing until the blow struck. She yelled out in pain and outrage, one of her hands letting go to cradle her ribs as Harry took her moment of rest bite to circle further away from her. A series of colourful words was flowing under her breath, and Harry wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate the temper she would be in now.

   Taking a pre-emptive strike, he pulled his wand from his pocket, twisting the chain just in time to see Bellatrix reaching for her own wand.

   _“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted, blasting her body backwards and her wand out into the darkness. With a scream she flung her now empty hand to seize hold of the hoop she had managed to cling onto, her dismayed face turning to watch her wand disappear. Harry had no idea how deep this pit was, but he certainly didn’t hear the little stick of wood hit the bottom.

   “You _vile_ boy!” she snarled, and without an moment’s pause, began charging towards him as fast as her arms would allow. Harry’ stomach dropped. He tried to turn himself around, but she was coming too quickly. Instead he lurched to the side, and she went flying past him. He grabbed at the rings as fast as he could, but she was already swinging back round towards him. He hadn’t had time to pocket his wand again, and it was now clamped dangerously in his jaw, making it difficult to breath. If he wasn’t careful he would snap right through it, or drop it, losing his only advantage over the crazy witch.

   “I will pull you apart piece by piece!” she roared, her wild tangle of black hair flying all over her face as she rocked from hoop to hoop. “I will use your entrails as finger paint, I will tear your eyes out with my teeth!”

   Harry didn’t doubt it. She was almost on top of him, his mind was frighteningly blank as to what spell he could use even if he had time to pull his wand from his mouth.

   Her hand, practically clawed with those long black fingernails, took a swipe at his face, making him gasp and almost lose the grip on his wand. He swung around in a circle, legs kicking frantically, as she came back in for another attempt. This time she seized his t-shirt, and yanked him down with all her might.

   Harry felt his shoulders protest, but they held up against the strain. He had both his hands on rings, and she only one, the other locked around his clothing. Instinctively, he let go with his left hand and tried to shove her away.

   She lost her grip on the ring.

   With a gasp of air, gravity took hold of her, but before she could fall her arm snapped round and locked onto Harry’s wrist.

   Both of them screamed out; Harry in pain, Bellatrix Lestrange in terror. “No!” she shrieked. “No, NO!”

   Harry was seeing stars. His right shoulder had popped horribly, though it couldn’t have dislocated as he still had a hold of the metal ring. But his already tired and worn out fingers were now blindingly painful, like four rods of white lightning connected to his hand. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

   “Don’t drop me, don’t _drop me!”_ screamed Bellatrix, pawing at his left hand. “You – you don’t understand, the safeties are all off, there’s nothing to catch us – I’ll do anything, PLEASE!”

   Harry grunted. “Climb up,” he muttered through his wand, trying to pull her but she was a dead weight. “Can’t. Lift.”

   She flailed desperately, trying to get a grip on his skin, his jeans, anything. “Please,” begged again. “I’ll tell you, whatever you want to know! That girl, the Goth one, she’s the one my master wanted, they’ll be taking her to Courtroom Ten along with everyone else.”

   Harry couldn’t help but whimper as her nails dragged across his flesh. She tried a different tactic and hooked her fingers into his jeans pocket, jamming his belt painfully into the small of his back.

   The pocket ripped. With a terrible scream her body dropped, and suddenly her arms were wrapped around his leg.   He moaned and tried to raise his arm, to get his wand, or disperse the weight by holding another ring, but there was no blood flowing to it, the muscles were pulled and he couldn’t do a thing with it.

   “I’m begging you,” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “I – I – I’ll tell you how to sneak into the courtroom!” Harry’s eyes widened in spite of the pain his was in, and managed to nod his head, wiggling his dead fingers, trying to tell her to keep climbing.

   She smiled, hugging onto his jeans as she reached up to try and save herself. But he held his arm away, as much as he could make it with no feeling. He wasn’t doing anything without more information. “Oh,” she said, nodding and still shuffling her weight that made Harry’s fingers tremble dangerously. “Yes, yes – Courtroom Seven, Level Nine, there’s a secret-”

   But her hand gave way, unable to find enough purchase on the denim. Without thinking Harry jerked to try and grab her, but she’d never been high enough for him to do that, and now all she had in her hands was his foot.

   “NO!” she wailed, “help me, help me, please!”

   But Harry could do nothing, nothing at all as her hands finally gave way. With a terrifying, pitiful screech she spiraled away from him, into the darkness, her scream fading gradually away.

   He stared down into the darkness, his arms vibrating with exhaustion as he reached up to find a second ring to hold onto.

   He knew she’d been trying to kill him, or deliver him to Voldemort which basically amounted to the same thing, but he honestly hadn’t intended her to die. Again.

   “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the gloom, before he began slowly, painfully, to make his way back towards the safety of the platform.

 

***

 

   Draco could feel the tears of desperation pricking at the back of eyes. There was no justice in the world, no luck at all. How could his father materialise now, when they just stood a chance of escaping, of getting Sarah out.

   He pressed her to his body as if he could somehow make her disappear, as if there was some way to keep her safe from the maniac currently smiling pleasantly at them. He would fight before they took her from him, he knew that much to be true. A bloody, vicious, ruthless fight. He’d stop breathing before he let them hurt her.

   “Not to worry, not to worry,” said Lucius brightly, patting his wife on the shoulder. “I’m sure we can straighten it all out easily enough.”

   Narcissa seemed to almost collapse with relief, but Draco just held onto Sarah tighter, and edged his body slightly towards where Ron and Hermione was standing. Ron just looked extremely pale, his mouth hanging open in disbelief at the man standing before them. Hermione had her chin up, her shoulders set, and her wand unashamedly pointed at Lucius Malfoy’s head.

   “I knew you’d understand,” gushed Narcissa. “I knew Bellatrix had just got wrong, everything fine, isn’t it?”

   “Yes, yes all fine,” Lucius said, the corners of his mouth betraying his tension. “Isn’t that right Draco?”

   Draco dug his fingers into Sarah’s flesh. He could feel her shaking but she didn’t make a sound.

   “I don’t know,” he whispered. He was certain his father wouldn’t wait too long to let the other shoe to drop. The facade was sure to fall soon and then they’d all be in serious trouble.

   Lucius forced a strained smile onto his face. “I’m not sure how you managed to evade the Wranglers,” he said patiently. “We talked about the necessity of you remaining at the school. But I suppose I understand your eagerness, it’s only natural you wanted to be involved here.”

   “What?” snapped Ron, a horrified expression on his face.

   “No-” said Draco quickly, but Lucius was already chuckling over him.

   “I’m sure my son just wanted to get in on the fun Weasley,” he said smugly. “And you and your little friends got in the way. Fortunate actually, seeing as it wasn’t Harry we needed after all.”

   “You liar!” shouted Ron at Draco, and made to lunge at him, but Hermione shoved him backwards.

   “Don’t be stupid!” she shouted, standing between the two boys. _“Think_ about it a minute, okay?”

   “You’re defending _him?”_ exploded Ron, trying to make a swipe at Draco again as he stepped himself and Sarah away.

   Lucius gave the smallest of frowns. “Why is she defending you?” he asked Draco. But it was Hermione who answered, one hand held up at Ron’s chest, the other pointing furiously at the elder Malfoy.

   “Because he is _not_ with you, this isn’t some clever double play!”

   His father laughed again as Narcissa watched them on tenterhooks. “Nicely done, Draco,” he said softly. “She’s quite enamored with you.”

   “She’s my friend,” said Draco through a locked jaw. His father’s amusement at thinking he’d lured the other students to the Ministry for glory was severely testing his ability to remain calm.

   “Of course,” humoured Lucius. “However, I do think that’s enough fun now son,” he said almost kindly. “Time to stand by your family.”

   Draco couldn’t help but stutter. “Fun?” he demanded, wrapping his arms even tighter around Sarah’s body. “You think this is _fun?”_ She’s just a little girl, she hasn’t done anything wrong!”

   “It’s just a mistake,” said Narcissa quickly, but Lucius cut her off, the anger Draco knew had been there the whole time rising to the surface.

   “It is _not_ for us to question our master. This girl is _nothing_ to you.”

   “You have no idea who she is to me,” Draco growled. “In fact you don’t know me at all.”

   “Draco Lucius Malfoy,” hissed Narcissa, horrified. “You will do as your father says, there’s only a problem if you make one!”

   Lucius pressed his lips together, his hand squeezing the head of his cane tightly with a gloved hand. “We can discuss this at home-”

   “I’m not going anywhere with you!” yelled Draco, taking a step backwards to fall in line with Hermione and Ron.

   “There’s three of us against you Mr Malfoy,” said Hermione curtly, nudging Ron who blinked and raised his wand as if he’d been intending to do that all along. “And we’ve had quite enough of you Death Eaters for one day.”

   Lucius was practically shaking, his gaze locked on Draco. “I don’t know what this is about,” his said, his voice strained with the effort of keeping it level. “But I will allow that you are under rather a lot of pressure at present and we can resolve this later.”

   The unspoken spell took Draco unawares, and Sarah was ripped from his grip and into Lucius’ before he could even blink.

   “NO!” he roared, but as he jumped forwards, his wand raised, he was suddenly blasted off his feet and the wand was gone.

   Hermione and Ron landed in a heap by his side as numerous Death Eaters spilled into the room. A pretty sort of woman, childlike in stature with curls of auburn hair, dove forwards and swept up the three student’s wands from the floor before they could reclaim them

   Hermione scrambled to her feet with Draco and Ron right behind her. “You won’t hurt Sarah,” she said angrily. “You need her.”

   A malicious look flew over Lucius’ face. Draco could see his embarrassment at the boy he thought to be his son disobeying him, but being scolded by a Mudblood tipped him over the edge.

   Lucius curled his lip. _“Crucio,”_ he whispered spitefully.

   Sarah fell to the floor, screaming and jerking in agony. Draco tried to run to her, but the Death Eaters in the room leapt forward and held him fast, along with Hermione and Ron.

   “NO!” wailed Draco, tears running down his face, clawing at the hands that held him. “Stop it please, PLEASE!”

   Lucius broke off the spell, a look of disgust on his face. Sarah trembled on the floor, panting, blood trickling from her lip where she’d bitten it.

   “We’ll do what you say,” stammered Draco. “Don’t hurt her, please.”

   Lucius’ eyes flicked from his son to the robed figures stationed around the room. “You have caused yourself a lot of trouble here today young man,” he hissed. “I will not stand for it and there will be consequences, do you understand?”

   Draco glared at the man who looked like his father, his loathing so powerful it was almost palatable. He knew him just as well as he knew his mother though, and as much as he hated the fact, it did give him an advantage.

   Draco stopped struggling against the guards and hung his head. “Yes sir,” he said meekly.

   Lucius was momentarily taken aback. “Well, thank you,” he said after a beat. “Yes that’s better.”

   “It won’t happen again.”

   He peeked up to see the relief on Lucius’ face. He was nodding at the other Death Eaters. “Good, yes good that’s better.”

“He’s just...” stammered Narcissa, face as pale as a ghost. “You’re just fond of the girl, aren’t you Draco?”

   He nodded submissively as a string of profanities flew from behind the hand attempting to cover Ron’s mouth.

   “I never meant to disrespect you,” said Draco, eyes still fixed humbly on the floor. It brought bile to his throat cowering like the child he used to be. But the only tactic he could think of when they were so outnumbered was to lull Lucius into a false sense of security, and hope there might be an opportunity to get the better of him later.

   As always, Lucius was very conscious of an audience, and even more keen to protect the name of Malfoy. “We all have our moments,” he said magnanimously. “As long as we know where you stand now.”

   “In the shadow of the Dark Lord,” answered Draco without missing a beat. “By the side of my fellow Malfoys.” He knew reciting the old family mantra would soften his old man, and it worked a treat.

   “Excellent,” said Lucius beaming at his fellows. Narcissa looked as if she might cry with relief. “I think we can forget any of this ever happened, a few words do no harm. Bishop, McNair, I believe you can release my son now, he’s seen the error of his little tantrum.”

   The hands were dropped from Draco’s body, and he staggered forward as Ron tried to shout even louder from behind the hand gagging his mouth. He rubbed his shoulder and snuck a glance at Hermione. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her body limp and unresisting. He prayed to whoever was listening she still had faith in him.

   Sarah was still on the floor, curled up and shaking from the impact of the torture curse Lucius had just hit her with. She wouldn’t look at him.

   “I think our exit is long overdue,” said Lucius, addressing the room. “The others will be expecting us.” He looked down at Sarah. “Miss Potter, would you be so kind as to join us?”

   To her credit, Sarah stood on her own feet without a word, her wand already confiscated by the tiny woman. Blood was congealing on her lip.

   “I’ll escort her,” said Draco, hoping his tone was the right blend of confidence and respectfulness. “She won’t give me any trouble, we don’t want any more silliness.”

Lucius seemed to consider this a moment, then decided not to second guess his son’s new found allegiance. “Yes, wonderful idea.” He probably thought this told everyone nice and clearly just who’s side Draco was on.

   Draco walked up to Sarah, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to escort her out. As he turned her numb frame towards the door, he gave her arm a quick double squeeze. It wasn’t much of a sign, but Sarah gave him the tiniest of smiles none the less.

   The Seventh Floor was home to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and as such there was so much Quidditch paraphernalia everywhere it closely resembled a teenager’s bedroom. A lot of the posters looked on warily, unsure what was going on in their usually easy going department. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could have sworn he saw a couple of painted figures following behind them, but every time he looked back there was no one to be seen. Maybe it was just the stress of a very long and unbelievable day playing tricks on his tired mind.

   They were led towards the stairs. When Narcissa had brought them down here they had finally understood what she’d meant about ‘folds’ in the building; the Ministry was too big to fit underground, so a lot of it was overlapped, and there were several points where you were technically standing in two places at once. If you knew where they were, you could make yourself move from one location to another, without actually technically moving. Most of the floors had numerous examples of this anomaly, but obviously Lucius didn’t want to risk losing sight of anyone so it was back to the waterfall-like steps for now.

   They sloshed through the currents, Draco and Sarah taking the lead with Hermione and Ron being frog-marched behind them. Someone had found a strip of cloth to force into Ron’s mouth but he was still griping as loud as he could, which resulted in more than one cuff behind the ear. Lucius and Narcissa brought up the rear, holding hands like they were out for a stroll in the park. Only Narcissa’s occasional twitching indicated there was anything wrong with the situation.

   As they rounded the corner to the Ninth Floor, Draco realised with a sickening lurch that the water had stopped gushing. Because now it was collecting around his knees.

   With all the drama they’d had, he’d never stopped to think where the water was going. Of course it would stop once it hit the bottom, and now it looked like a veritable lake had formed in the base of the Ministry of Magic.

   Sarah gasped as the cold water wrapped around her bare legs, but the Death Eaters were already shoving Ron and Hermione onto their heels, so Draco squeezed her hand and they pushed into the icy water down the last few steps. Ron swore loudly through his gag as he and Hermione hit the lake, but was sensible enough to keep walking. Draco gritted his teeth; it was one thing to walk through the water when it had been sloshing around them, the movement had somehow made it more bearable. But now, enveloped in it, it almost made his heart want to stop.

   “Oh Heavens no,” said Lucius in a disapproving tone as he and Narcissa made it to the reservoir, and a spell illuminated the lake, reflecting orange light onto the walls. Draco exhaled in relief as the water warmed up by several degrees, feeling more like a swimming pool rather than a pond in winter.

   The Ninth Floor was flooded so much it came up to Draco’s chest, and Sarah had to tread water. He pulled her so she could hold onto his side rather than paddle by herself. “What’s going to happen?” she whispered in his ear. Over the splashing of the water Draco was pretty confident no one else could hear them.

   “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if I see a chance to get you out of here, I will. Just watch for a signal.”

   She nodded into his neck.

   “Up on your left please Draco,” instructed Lucius. “There’s a good boy.” Draco bristled at the condescending tone, but it was no worse than he was used to before, so he just waded off to the left.

   The only way to Level Ten, and thereby the courtroom, was via Level Nine. It wasn’t on the lifts, and evidently not part of the main stairwell either. But as they reached the steps down, Draco came up short. “It’s underwater,” he said.

   “Surely that shouldn’t be a problem?” said Lucius, his tone forcefully light. Draco could tell he didn’t want to be embarrassed by him any further, but Draco wasn’t scared of going under the tides.

   He looked left and right, then leant towards his father. “I don’t know the right spell,” he confided sheepishly. Lucius’ nostrils flared but he smoothed it over quickly enough.

   “That’s very flattering of you,” he said loudly. “I’m sure you can do it just as well, but if you insist.” With a flick of Lucius’ wand, bubbles of air appeared around Draco and Sarah’s heads, and soon everybody was equipped with a bubble-head charm.

   On instinct, Draco took a deep breath as he and Sarah lowered themselves down the staircase that would lead them to Courtroom Ten. Once submerged, he had to forcefully make himself breath in and out for the first minute of so. It was hard to get used to the water swirling around him and not going into his lungs.

   His insides were squirming with worry, he could only imagine what waited for them once they reached the courtroom. He may be in his father’s good graces now, but he wouldn’t turn on his friends for real, and then they’d be in exactly the same situation they were ten minutes ago.

   And what could Voldemort possibly want with Sarah, she’d only existed in this reality for a matter of hours? He thought back to that empty file on Dimensional Hotspots they’d found and resigned himself that what they wanted probably wasn’t anything good.

   Walking along the corridor was like being in another world. It was murky and what little light there was played tricks on the eye, creating shadows and shapes where there were none. The silence pressed down on them like a tomb, and the currents swirled in front of their eyes like zephyrs floating pollen in a meadow. Debris from the offices above had found its way down a level, and they were continuously buffered by disintegrating sheets of parchment, quills and waste paper baskets.

   Lucius had obviously put a second spell on them, as their feet moved as if they were walking normally so they didn’t have to swim, but Sarah’s hair swirled around her head like tentacles, as did Hermione’s. The crazy clouds of brown and black swirls threw extra shadows on the jagged stone walls from the light being cast from the Death Eaters wands. The water itself seemed almost black with only a few pin pricks of light to brighten it up, and more than once Draco stumbled on the cobbles under his feet.

   They passed a few frozen Ministry employees as they went, the first one they spied caused Draco and Sarah to squeeze each other’s hands in shock. The plump woman’s short blond hair waved around her ears like seaweed, an agreeable smile on her face, her blue eyes still open and unseeing. He guessed Sarah was thinking the same thing as he was: was this woman dead? There was no way to know, so they just carried on walking down the corridor.

   There were a few twists and turns, and a couple more staircases down, as they made their way towards the double doors that lead into the courtroom. Here and there a narrow, unlit hallway would head off to the right; Draco hadn’t remembered spotting them when he’d come down here before, but he guessed his mind had been pretty focused that day. But they must go somewhere, back behind the courtroom perhaps?

   An idea was forming in his mind, and his heart rate began to increase. If they really needed Sarah, they wouldn’t hurt her if it went wrong, and he didn’t care what they did to him. He started scanning intently for the next offshoot corridor, he prayed there was one soon as he felt like it wouldn’t be long before Courtroom Ten would be looming ahead of them.

   With a thrill of relief he spotted one, just a few meters ahead, and instantly he slowed his pace ever so slightly so they were closer to Ron and Hermione, Sarah still by his side, their hands entwined. No one seemed to notice, which was exactly what he’d hoped for. As they were almost at the turn off, Draco bent double, as if he had been shot. He began thrashing around his face a mask of fake pain as he shoved Sarah behind him; into the corridor. He hoped she understood, because he didn’t really have a way to explain.

   His legs kicked as he jerked and spun his body, catching on to Hermione as if for support. She was horrified, which encouraged him on. If she bought his farce, maybe the others would for a few more seconds. He daren’t look behind him to see if Sarah was gone, but in his mind she was running or swimming as fast as she could.

   Hermione’s hair did exactly what he’d hoped it would, and made it very hard to see anything, especially as Draco was doing his upmost to create as many bubbles as possible.

   Suddenly she was pulled away from him, and then it was his father shaking him. He carried on flailing, determined to keep up the charade for as long as possible, but Lucius wasn’t fooled. He released Draco’s shoulders and he pretended to sink to the ground, as if exhausted by pain. Lucius was staring in the same direction as Draco as his bubble charm touched the cobble-stone floor.

   Down the completely empty corridor.

 

***

 

   Harry’s whole body screamed. His face was mashed into the soothing marble flooring of the platform, and it was with every ounce of strength he had he was still breathing in and out.

   His arms and legs were splayed out like a star fish, and occasionally one or other limb would spasm and twitch as it worked out how to function again. Getting himself back across the sea of rings had seemed to take forever, and his nerves had shredded to the point where he believed succeeding without falling would be impossible. It was only the thought of his friends and sister, stranded somewhere in the building, that kept his shaking arms reaching out over and over again.

   He thought of Bellatrix again. He hadn’t meant for her to fall, heinous as she was, but it was the sort of death he wouldn’t wish on anyone. It was the raw fear he’d seen in her eyes that was plaguing his thoughts.

   He sighed, causing the marble pressed up near his mouth to fog up. He had to get a grip. There were plenty of other extremely worthwhile human beings who could still die tonight, who had already died for all he knew, and if he dawdled here any longer he wasn’t going to be of much use to them.

   With a groan he bent his arms and legs until they were reasonably balanced enough to cope with him standing. He fetched his wand from where it had clattered across the floor, and began to wind his way around the walls and pillars.  

   He figured the easiest way to get out of the training facility was to go back the route he’d come, and thankfully he had rather a large trail of water to follow that lead him all the way back to the doors and once more into the shin deep currents.

   He was only on Level Two, and he had to get to Level Nine if Bellatrix was to be believed. He rubbed his head and looked up and down the deserted corridor. She had been frantic to save her skin, so he really hoped she’d been telling the truth, but really, he had no way to know. He had to at least try and find Courtroom Seven though, he reasoned, so set off away from the direction he’d originally run away from Bellatrix. He’d seen no sign of stairs when he’d run through there, so he figured trying a new route would be most sensible.

   He allowed himself a smile as he turned into another hallway and spied a sign for the stairwell. A bit of luck was just what he needed right about now.

   He splashed his way through the currents, hoping there weren’t any other Death Eaters lurking round the corner to drag him off to Voldemort. But all he saw were frozen Ministry employees, the chilly water lapping around their robes.

   The stairs were practically rapids with the amount of water that was pouring down them. How long could that fountain chug it out for like this? Harry had to cling onto the railing with his right hand and hold his wand clumsily in his left in case he were to meet anyone unwelcome. He figured he could probably still cast spells with his wrong hand; he certainly couldn’t let go of the banister with the other.

   But wherever the Death Eaters all were, they were not hanging around in the stairwell. He didn’t see a single soul until he reached Level Nine, or rather, the lake that greeted him just before he arrived at the level. The water was strangely warm, and it wasn’t so dreadful to sink into its depths and swim into the corridor.

   Harry looked worryingly at the frozen people who’s heads were only just sticking out above the water’s surface. Would they drown, or was their immobility protecting them for now?

   “You!”

   Harry jerked his head around so fast his glasses almost went sailing off his head. But he couldn’t see anyone in the water with him. His raised his wand out of the water and span around, searching for the source of the voice.

   A woman tutted. “Over here,” she said in Queen’s English, and it was then she spied a couple of painting’s waving at him. They were half in and out of the water, but he could see that against a backdrop of quaint countryside stood a woman with mud splattered robes and a whistle round her neck, and a man brandishing a large tobacco pipe.

   “You’re Harry Potter aren’t you?” said the woman eagerly. Harry looked up and down the corridor, waiting for someone in black robes to jump out at him, but no one did.

   “Er,” he said, swiping his water logged hair from his eyes. “Yeah I am.”

   “Oh thank goodness,” said the woman. “She needs your help, they all do.”

   “Who?” said Harry, the hesitation gone from his mind as he propelled himself over to the portrait. “Who are you talking about?”

   “The little black haired girl,” said the man with the pipe. “The one with all the earrings. Bunch of other kids came in to fetch her, then some of _those_ lot stopped them. Said they were going to take them somewhere.”

   “Was there two boys and a girl?” Harry asked, grabbing onto the painting to steady him against the tide. “The boys would have had red and blond hair.”

   “That’s them,” said the woman encouragingly. “The blonde one was very protective of our little Sarah, we liked him a lot.”

   Harry felt a mix of emotions filter through him. They were still alive, they were still together. But it seemed they had already been taken to Courtroom Ten like Bellatrix had warned him, and he didn’t know if that meant he was now too late.

   “I have to find Courtroom Seven,” Harry told the paintings. “It’s on this Level, I can get to my friends that way.” He hoped.

The gentleman straightened his bowtie. “That’s where Lizzy lives,” he said proudly. “Allow me to escort you young sir.”

   Harry swam after the two paintings as they hopped from frame to frame. It only took a few minutes before he found them either side of a closed, imposing looking single door of mahogany. “After you,” said the man, holding his pipe out to show this was the room Harry wanted, so he fumbled about under the water until he discovered the doorknob and gave it a sharp turn.

   The water rushed into the room, pulling Harry with it so he tumbled head over heels, succumbing to the current. As it wasn’t that deep he was able to find the floor pretty quickly and shove his feet off it, his sore muscles protesting as he broke through the surface once again and spat out a lungful of water.

   The man with the pipe was now sharing a frame with a startled young woman with a large blonde poodle perm and bright pink lipstick. The woman with the whistle had settled in a field of horses, and was now apparently feeding them sugar cubes from her pockets.

   “Oh William,” said the blonde girl in a thick Somerset accent. “What have we got goin’ on ‘ere?”

   “Lady Elizabeth Cockleton,” said the man, William apparently, holding her around the waist and pointing at Harry. “May I present Harry Potter. Mr Potter, this is the Lady Elizabeth, that over there with the neddies is my good friend Roberta Charlton, and I myself am Sir William Bompkins, at your service.”

   Roberta wiped the sugar from her hands and waved, whilst Elizabeth peered down at Harry. “You don’t look like him,” she said as if she were studying an item for auction. “He’s taller ain’t he, more impressive lookin’.”

   “I’m Harry Potter,” he said impatiently. “I promise. And I’m in a bit of a rush.”

   “Ah yes,” said Roberta, jumping into an empty portrait so she looked bigger than she had been in the landscape. “How exactly do you get into Courtroom Ten, we can help you look.”

   Harry looked about, the water lapping against him almost to his shoulders. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “She said it was a secret passageway.” Or that’s what he thought she was going to say at least. She hadn’t managed to get that far.

   “What about it my dear?” boomed Sir William. “Any secret passageways lurking about?”

   Elizabeth shrugged, looking bored. “Well I don’t know do I?” she said in that accent so at odds with her title. “No one ever comes in ‘ere.”

   “Yes,” said Roberta pointedly. “But you haven’t exactly been here long, have you?” Harry thought he saw her raise an eyebrow at Sir William, but she’d already turned to another portrait on the other side of the room.

   “Arthur!” she called out to a painting of a man with a ruffled collar, fast asleep in a portrait across the room. “Arthur we have a spot of bother!” He awoke with a snuffle.

   “Man the pig sty!” he cried with a snore, then blinked and looked around.

   “Er – could we try and keep it down?” asked Harry nervously. “There are still lots of evil people lurking about.”

   “Oh of course my dear,” said Roberta kindly. “Arthur, do you know of a hidden door, I think the ruffians used to use it back in the war?”

   “Oh damn silly business if you ask me,” he said sniffing and scratching his head. “In my day wizards didn’t run around playing spies – they left that to the Muggles.” He yawned, widely, and made as if to go back to sleep. But Roberta Charlton was having none of that.

   “Arthur!” she snapped. “We did not enquire after your opinion, the young gentleman here is in a bit of a crisis and would really rather like to know how to get into the large courtroom.”

   Arthur ruffled himself like a peacock. “Alright, calm yourself woman,” he said scornfully. She ignored the rebuff and raised her eyebrow expectedly. He sighed. “There’s a panel that slides open – under the two swords mounted on the shield – over there on the wall.” Harry turned and looked at the ornate weaponry affixed to the wooden paneling.

   “Er...”he said slowly. “So it’s underwater?”

   “Not afraid of a little water are you boy?” said Arthur patronisingly. “In my day-”

   “Oh go back to sleep Arthur,” said Roberta. “We shall wake you if anything eventful should happen.”

   “Hmf,” was all he said, but apart from that he seemed quite happy to snuggle back down against his frame and doze off once again.

   “There you are lad!” said Sir William. “That should get you where you want to go shouldn’t it?” Harry looked dubiously at the spot that Arthur had indicated.

   “What if I open the panel and it sucks all the water down with me – like a plug hole?”

   “What if you stand here wondering and you don’t get to your friends in time?” Sir William counter argued. Harry looked up at the three paintings staring down at him and nodded.

   “You’re right,” he said. He hadn’t faced all he had to worry about drowning now. He just couldn’t let that happen. Somehow.

   “That’s the spirit,” said William positively.

   “Right,” said Harry, nodding his head, trying to take deeps breaths but not make himself dizzy. He wasn’t doing such a great job.  

   “Those are the swords,” said Sir William helpfully. “So the panel must be underneath.”

   “He knows,” chided Roberta as Lady Lizzy yawned. “Let him compose himself.”

   “No,” said Harry, wading across to the swords on the shield. “He’s right, there’s no time.” Again he found himself really wishing he’d learnt how to cast the Bubble Head charm.

   “Thank you for everything,” he told the paintings.

   “No trouble, no trouble,” said William, patting Elizabeth on the shoulder. “Was it dear?” She shrugged and twirled a lock of hair.

   “Best of luck,” said Roberta, her hand pulling anxiously at her whistle. “You just take care of yourself and that little girl. She was a fighter, and so are you!” She shook her fist supportively.    

   Harry managed a small smile, then inhaled as much oxygen as he could and submerged himself under the water.

   He swam forward a little bit to the panel and placed his hands firmly onto the wall, giving it a good solid push. He was hugely relieved when it clicked backwards and slid to the right, exposing a hidden passageway about two foot high and wide.

   He felt a little put out the water didn’t shoot through like it had when he’d opened the door just now; he’d been prepared to find himself flying along wherever the passage lead to. But it remained just as calm as it had before he’d opened to entranceway. Well, as calm as it could be with the current churning about like it was.

   He reached forward and grabbed the edges to pull himself towards the gap, careful not to let his glasses float entirely off his face. His shoulders wailed at him, still protesting from the strain he had put on them whilst swinging across the swathe of dangling hoops, but the flash of pain was only momentary. As he travelled through the threshold he was surprised to discover that the water ended where the wall was, like an invisible barrier was holding it back. That’s why he hadn’t been sucked through.

   Thoroughly relieved not to have to swim for Merlin knows how long holding his breath, he pushed his head through the membrane and took a fresh gulp of cold air. He pulled the rest of his body through and found himself in a small stone tunnel a little bigger than the secret panel and lit dimly by a handful of torches bracketed to the wall. He wondered who on Earth had lit them as hidden as they were, then decided not to worry about it, just be glad there were torches at all.

   The tunnel turned sharply to the right a couple of metres ahead, so with little time to be wasted Harry started crawling along, wand back in hand in case of any nasty surprises. There was a cold breeze blowing against his face, but apart from that is was quiet. He found his mind was wondering off in unpleasant directions as he carried on painfully on hand and knee, dirt clinging to his sodden clothes. What if he was too late? What did Voldemort want with Sarah, would he hurt her? How could he possibly hope to fight him?

   A sudden noise brought him back to reality. Shouting, several voices, coming from up ahead, to his left. He froze, trying to make out what was being said.

   “-think you can trick me?” Someone roared as feet clattered and other people shouted back. “Go back there and help the others look.”

   Harry couldn’t place the voice, but there was something familiar about it. The tunnel turned right again up ahead, and Harry sped up to see where the commotion was coming from.

   As he rounded the turn though he stopped dead in his tracks, horrified. He was face to face with a window the height of the tunnel, baring down onto an auditorium; Courtroom Ten. He recognised it from when he’d fallen into Dumbledore’s pensive, this was where Barty Crouch Jr had been sentenced, and Bellatrix Lestrange.

   He was at the back of the second tier of seating, just like you’d find in a theatre. The lower level was crawling with Death Eaters, but there didn’t seem to be any in the circle. Still, Harry tried to scrambled backwards awkwardly, he was sure no matter how the light was falling he must be visible through the glass.

   He was halfway back out though when he realised there was someone in the circle, a lone Death Eater patrolling the seats at the back. And she was staring right at Harry.

   He tried to stifle his cry as he slipped backwards and hastily pointed his wand at the little woman with auburn curls on the other side. But instead of reacting, she just pulled out a lip gloss, swiped it on her mouth, then carried on her search.

   Harry remained frozen, until she passed, several voices shouting indistinguishably through the glass, his breaths coming out in short, sharp gasps. She hadn’t seen him, he was okay. But how?

   He was distracted as he saw Lucius Malfoy pacing angrily back and forth along the bottom level; and then he saw who was on the floor.

   Three figures were already bound by their hands and feet, bleeding and motionless on the flagstones. Sirius, Remus, Tonks. But it wasn’t them being shouted at. Ron, who had a short length of material tied around his head, was being restrained by two rather large men. Hermione was also being held, but it was the boy that had just been thrown to the floor that had Harry’s main attention.

   Draco was propping himself up, water dripping all over the place. Even from a distance Lucius looked so livid Harry thought he might actually combust. “I just-” he fumed. “I don’t, why on _Earth?”_

   A woman, also blonde, was weeping, shivering and dripping wet behind Lucius, her attention solely on Draco. There was a doorway not far behind her, the main entrance to the auditorium, but like Harry’s secret passageway it was just a wall of water too. They must have swam down from Level Nine.

   Draco wiped the back of his hand on his mouth, his breathing steady. “She’s just a little girl,” he said so quietly Harry barely heard him through the glass, which he’d realised must be a two-way mirror.

   _“She is NOTHING to you!”_ roared Lucius, the cane Harry hadn’t even been aware was in his hand swinging through the air. The metallic end hit Draco’s jaw with a sickening crunch, sending him crashing back to the ground. The blonde woman creamed out, curling into a ball as her hands darted between covering her mouth and her eyes.

   “You are a MALFOY!” bellowed Lucius as Draco tried to pull himself upright.

   “I will NEVER be like you!” Draco screamed back, spitting a mouthful of blood into his father’s face.

   Lucius suddenly became very still. Harry could hear his pulse thumping through his ears as he waited with bated breath. Would Lucius really hurt his son, could he? Could he kill him?

   It certainly seemed possible in that second.

   But he turned away from the boy as if nothing had happen, pulling a drenched handkerchief from his pocket. The blonde woman let out a sob, but otherwise the adults watched on passively. Lucius picked two men from the crowd, and Harry realised they were the pair he’d followed into the Ministry before – Salt-and-Pepper and the shorter Welsh one.

   “You,” said Lucius with a remarkable degree of tranquility. “Bind them, see they don’t go anywhere. You,” he said, addressing several other members of the black robed group. “Come with me.”

   Without a second glace he turned and, after casting that blasted bubble-head charm, stepped back into the water. Half a dozen Death Eaters followed.

   Harry shifted his weight, desperately trying to see from a better point of view, and his knee knocked against something. Startled, he looked down, blinking to adjust his eyes back to the gloom. It was a lever. He looked back up to the two-way mirror. Would this be where he could get in?

   There was only one way to find out.

   He grabbed it and yanked it as hard as he could. It didn’t budge. Harry wasn’t about to give up though, so he dug his heels in, literally, and heaved as much as his tired arms would allowed. A sudden rusty squeal pierced the air, and Harry would have stopped pulling in shock if the level hadn’t suddenly flown all the way to the ground, causing the mirror to swing silently open a few inches, allowing him into the courtroom.

   Harry held his breath, straining to hear if his ruckus had been noted by the Death Eaters, but they were carrying on as normal, giving each other instructions on who to tie up first.

   “The blond one,” said Salt-and-Pepper from the sound of it. “He’s the trouble maker, get his hands behind his back.”

   Harry snuck out from behind the mirror, then pushed it back so it was almost shut again so no one would hopefully notice anything different. He then ran quickly until he was about halfway down the balcony, where the barrier blocked him from sight so if anyone did happen to look up, he was now protected.

   “Enjoy picking on kids do we?” taunted the familiar voice of Sirius Black. Harry couldn’t help but be relieved he was still conscious. As he approached the barrier he spotted a knot of wood that was missing from one of the wooden panels, so counting his blessings he pressed his face up to the little hole and peered through with one eye.

   The childlike woman Harry had seen on the top level kicked Sirius in the gut, sending him recoiling backwards with a cry of pain. She then turned and grabbed Hermione by the hair. She was obviously a great deal stronger than her tiny frame suggested.

   “Get OFF her!” screamed Draco, straining against the ogre like man trying to tie his hands. Ron shouted out too but the gag disguised whatever the words might have been.

   Harry covered his mouth so his cry of fury wouldn’t give him away. Draco was fighting like a cat in a bag, trying to reach Hermione who was being dragged still by her wet hair kicking and screaming. They were all in front a table that Harry vaguely remembered normally sat the judges for whoever was on trial. Outrageously, on that table was placed several wands, and Harry had spent enough years of his life looking at them to understand Ron and Hermione’s were amongst them. He bet the others belonged to his friends as well. The audacity.

   “That your _girlfriend?”_ sneered the ogre to Draco, throwing a punch at his gut. “Shall we make her a bit prettier for you?” Draco now had a gag in his mouth too, but the roar of anger that came streaming out from behind it was pretty clear about his feelings on the matter. The blonde woman was being held back from Draco by several other Death Eaters, but she herself wasn’t being bound.

   Salt-and-Pepper looked nervous. “Erm, Mane,” he said the man. “I don’t think we should hurt them, Malfoy didn’t say-”

   “He didn’t say not to,” interrupted Mane, advancing on Hermione with a wicked look on his face whilst the other prisoners screamed and bellowed. “Just a little bit of fun, she’s only a Mudblood after all.”

   Harry had enough. He looked down at the table with the wands. Not only was it directly below him, there was no one behind it, just the wall.

   The ogre man Mane seized Hermione from the little curly-haired woman and dragged her to her feet. She cried out behind her own gag and kicked out at him. “Give us a kiss,” he growled through crooked teeth.

And then he wasn’t there anymore, he was crumpled on the floor ten feet away. Hermione stumbled to get her balance, and stared as dumbstruck as everyone else as Mane twitched unconsciously.

   It turned out that the missing knot of wood was big enough to poke a wand through as well as an eye.

   Harry didn’t waste a moment. Everyone was still staring it the big lump of a man on the floor, so he grabbed the railing on the barrier, vaulted his body over the wall, then landed in a crouch on the table with the wands. Several heads snapped back towards him.

   “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said nonchalantly. “Did you miss me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well now Harry's just showing off! ;-) What did you think of his grand entrance?


	8. With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve made him one of them, one of you, he doesn’t understand, he’s just trying to please you and it will get him killed!” Narcissa Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're at the end of Book Two and it's quite a hefty chapter! After this there will be a short epilogue which will be uploaded on Thursday, along with the prologue to Book Three, "What Dreams May Come". 
> 
> In the meantime, let's go see what happened after Harry's dramatic entrance...

Chapter Seven -

   With You

 

I woke up in a dream today

To the cold of the static, and put my cold feet on the floor

Forgot all about yesterday

Remembering I’m pretending to be where I’m not anymore

A little taste of hypocrisy

And I’m left in the wake of the mistake, slow to react

So even though you’re so close to me

You’re still so distant

And I can’t bring you back

Linkin Park

 

   Draco coughed as the mothballs flew all around him. He waved them away impatiently, his throat tickling so much it made his eyes stream.

   “Is Master Draco alright?” chirped Dobby anxiously from by his knee. “Only Master Draco told Dobby not to disturb this room, so he hasn’t.”

   “No,” choked Draco, rubbing his face. “You did the right thing, but perhaps you could give it a quick sweep now, we’ll probably be here a – a while.” He had another good cough, wiped his eyes, then slowly entered the dark room he had just opened the door to.

   Dobby as always was eager to please, and nipped in ahead of Draco, lit all the lamps in a flash, then set about making the room habitable again. With a flick of his little green hand, the curtains were pulled apart to reveal the bright May sunshine, and he began chasing dust out of the nooks and crannies and into a pan he’d produced from nowhere.

   Draco stood in the middle of the room as Dobby the whirlwind spun about him. It wasn’t the largest of rooms, merely a smallish study with a desk and a delicate looking wooden chair, one wall that was filled entirely with a bookcase, and a storage cupboard.

   His mother’s study, a place neither she or him had been in a number of years.

   A single silver photo frame was on the neatly ordered, but fairly crowded desk top. Draco looked on as his eight year old self scampered about, waving at the camera and grinning with his two front teeth missing. Dobby hopped up and began clearing off the dust that had collected on top of all the books, note pads and stacks of paper.

   This room had been used in the days where his mother worked hard to keep the affairs of Malfoy Manor all in order. But after what had happened at Hogwarts she’d never spent another single minute caring for the place, entrusting it instead to a housekeeper she’s insisted on hiring.

   Draco wasn’t sure why he was in here. He was trying his best to pack for his move into the Potter’s place, and had been combing through several of the less used rooms of the house in case he wanted to bring some forgotten keepsake. But this room had nothing of his in he was sure. Maybe he simply wanted to revisit a place he knew to have just been his mother’s, never his father’s.

   Dobby sneezed and fell back onto his behind. “Dobby is truly sorry Master Draco,” he said, sneezing again and scrambling to his feet. “Dobby should never have let any room in this house become such a state.”

   But Draco waved him off. “I told you,” he said kindly. “I didn’t want this one disturbed, I just changed my mind now that’s all. How about you get us some lemonade to stop us having a fit whilst we work?”

   “At once sir!” cried Dobby, and disappeared with a loud crack.

   Draco sighed and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. He still wasn’t feeling definite about moving in with Lily and James, but it seemed they, and Sirius, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hermione and Blaise thought it was a good idea too, but Draco was procrastinating in his departure from the Manor. This had been his only home, and he knew he could always come back, but there was something about the move that felt like abandonment.

   There probably wasn’t going to be anything useful in this particular room, and he was starting to regret bringing up such painful memories – as all memories of his mother were. He decided to have a quick look through then just move on as quick as possible; he’d let Dobby have his clean up to make him happy, then lock the door once again.

   He scanned through the items on the desk but dismissed them almost straight away. Some of the books on the shelf looked vaguely interesting but not enough to take to Godric’s Hollow, and then that just left the cupboard. Draco eased open the squeaky door and pulled down several cobwebs that had been stretched across the threshold.

   It was all pretty chaotic inside there, all kinds of boxes and random items piled up in top of one another. From what Draco could tell it was his mum’s old stuff from when he moved out of her parents’ house and into the Manor. There were all her all books from Hogwarts, photo albums, a faded globe of the world, even her old Slytherin tie mixed in with board games, parts of fancy dress outfits and a number of slightly sinister Victorian dolls.

   Eyeing a particularly creepy one with a cracked face and red ringlets, Draco went to close the door and leave the study for good, when his foot nudged something heavy tucked away in the corner. It looked like a stone pot with a lid on, like something you might cook with. Curious, Draco knelt down and edged it out into the study, and as soon as he got it into the light he could see it was engraved with the Black family coat of arms, all skulls and ravens and their motto _“Toujours pur.”_

He squinted at it and gave it a prod with his wand. Instinct told him he knew better than to lift the lid off things when he didn’t know what they were, but he reasoned it had belonged to his mother and she had never been involved with the dark arts. That was all Lucius Malfoy.

   Carefully, he slowly lifted the stone lid of the pot with a nasty scraping sound, and as soon as the seal was broken a blue light started emanating from inside. He paused, for a moment sure he’d unleashed some terrible curse, but nothing happened so he heaved the heavy lid off and plonked it on the floor.

   He stared in wonder as the source of the blue light was revealed; bright glowing wisps of smoke were twisting about inside the pot, twirling and dancing around one another.

   Draco had never seen such a thing before, but he knew what they were. Memories. This was a Pensive filled with his mother’s memories.

   A strong wave of emotion rolled over Draco, almost making him dizzy. Excitement, fear, grief, they all mingled into one big mess. Why had his mother hidden away a secret stash of her memories?

   He looked about, almost expecting Dobby to have caught him in the act, though he wasn’t sure why he felt guilty. But the little elf was nowhere to be seen, and Draco felt his hands wrapping around the rim of the Pensive. The circumference was barely bigger than his head, but he knew that was what you were supposed to do – stick your head in and watch the memories like a ghost.

   His stomach was squirming, but he knew there was no way he could just put the lid back on and forget about it. So with a deep breath, he leant forward on his knees and touched his face to the memories.

   He fell forward instantly with a sickening lurch, his arms and legs flailing. But within seconds he was back on his feet, unharmed, in the west wing of Malfoy Manor. For a moment he looked about confused, thinking he had mistaken the Pensive for a Portkey and he’d merely moved through the house instead. But then his mother turned into the corridor, and Draco felt all the air leave his lungs.

   She was startlingly beautiful, in a long white robe, her unlined face surrounded by tresses of golden hair. And in her arms, snuggled up to her neck, was a baby.

   Draco looked back and forth between the child and his young mother. With its halo of blond hair there was no mistaking who the baby could be; it had to be him. Narcissa was bouncing the infant, swaying back and forth and shh-ing, in what Draco guessed was an attempt to keep him asleep. She looked so happy, so peaceful.

   He’d seen photos of himself when he was small, and his mother when she’d been young, but there was something very surreal about standing there watching them walk towards him. The way the baby Draco fretted and the calmness with which Narcissa soothed him, the way they both smelled of fresh laundry, the way his mother’s voice bounced off the Manor’s otherwise silent walls.

He’d never thought he’d see his mother again, and even though he knew he was watching a memory the sensory overload was as welcome as it was overwhelming. She looked so carefree, so unburdened, it lifted Draco’s heart.

   He trailed after her as she passed him, following her down the grand staircase past a collection of Malfoy decedents from the eighteenth century. “Finally managed to get the little brat to sleep then?” griped a huge man called Francis, with whom Draco and Blaise had had several vicious arguments with since he’d inherited the house.

   “Oh go boil your head,” said Narcissa in a pleasant whisper. “We’re off to find Daddy, aren’t we Draco?”

   She reached the base of the stairs and turned right. Draco felt a little surprised to hear her berate the painting like that, she had always seemed afraid of them. He smiled and jumped the last couple of steps.

   They strolled along to Lucius Malfoy’s study, the one Draco had been enjoying the last few months, and he was surprised again to see his mother waltz right in, and then again when his young father greeted them both with open arms.

   “There’s my favourite people,” he said warmly. His hair was short and his eyes were unlined like his wife’s. He rose from behind his desk to wrap his arms around Narcissa and the baby, and Draco watched as the two of them cooed his little self. He felt something twist in his guts as the other Draco was kissed and cuddled. Who was this man that looked like his father, his eyes shining with affection, his laughter filling the room.

   Draco couldn’t help but be relieved when the image shifted all around him, and suddenly he was outside in the sweeping grounds of the Manor.

   “Draco be careful!” He spun around to see the still young Narcissa chasing after a toddler sized Draco, who was quite the speedy little fellow. Draco couldn’t really think of it as being himself as the child whizzed past, his mother hot on his heals as he pelted towards a set of short steps set into rhododendron hedges.

   It was then the little boy tripped, smashing his face into the bottom step and bursting into tears. Draco felt his hand fly automatically to his own mouth as the crying, miniature Draco turned over to reveal a contorted, blood splattered face. He could see right away his new teeth had gone through his lip.

   “Oh baby,” cried Narcissa, panic-stricken and sweeping him up into her arms, covering her with his blood. “Oh baby, it’s okay mummy’s here.”

   Draco watched them for a moment as they cuddled and little Draco tried to calm himself. The door nearest to them suddenly banged open, and all three of the people on the patio jumped. Draco knew there was nothing for him to fear, but he still flinched back slightly at the sight of his father’s fury.

   “What did you do to him!” he cried. Lucius’ voice was panicked like Narcissa’s had been, but it was also tainted with anger that Narcissa picked up on as quickly in the past as Draco did in the present.

   “He fell,” she said quickly. “It’s just a cut, I was about to fix it.”

   Lucius snatched his son from her arms and held him up to inspect his bloody face. Toddler Draco began crying again, squirming in his father’s hands.

   “His face Sissy, look at his face!” She reached out but Lucius jerked away. “He cannot have a scar like that! Leave him to me.” And so he stormed off, he son bawling in his arms, leaving Narcissa to lower slowly to the stone steps, her hand resting on her red-smeared robes.

   Draco sat beside her as she stared blankly after her husband and son, blood dripping from her fingers. Why was this memory saved here? It was horrible.

   It ended as quickly as it began, changing to his third birthday party in the main hall. The Manor’s grandest room was filled with extended family and friends of his parents, as well as several children of the same age running around and squealing at a pitch that made Draco’s ears throb. It took him a moment to realise that one of the little girls was a tiny Blaise Zabini which delighted him no end.

   His parents were all love and smiles again, holding hands and talking to guests all holding champagne. Draco recognised Bellatrix Lestrange with a shudder, and a man who had to be Sirius’ brother their looks were so similar. He remembered Sirius saying he’d been a Death Eater. At that moment the three year old Draco threw himself at his mother’s legs, almost knocking her off her feet. “Mummy, Draco found stone!”

   He held it up for her to see like he’d discovered a lost treasure. “That’s lovely sweetheart,” she said as all the adults around her laughed. But the little Draco was determined, and stretched up his arm even more, a scowl on his face.

   “Heart,” he cried, shaking his fist. “Mummy heart.”

   Still laughing she realised he was trying to actually give her the stone, so she took it from his hand. Draco had to crane his neck to see over his Great Aunt Theodora, but as soon as he saw what his mother held he barked out a laugh no one else could hear. The stone was shaped like a love-heart, just as three year old Draco had been trying to explain. But what made him laugh was that that stone had lived on his mother’s dressing table for as long as he could remember, was still there in fact, and had been held and rubbed so many times it was now as smooth as glass.

   As the memory changed again Draco made a mental note to pack it away with his things to take to the Potters.

   There were several other memories that followed quickly after the ones he’d just witnessed. The first time he flew on a broom was a happy one like the party, but a terrible argument between his mother and him at the age of seven was very hard to watch. Narcissa was worried how much time he and Blaise were spending together, largely because Mrs Zabini was known to have murdered her previous six husbands for their inheritance, and it wasn’t clear how her current one had managed to survive this long. Looking on as an adult, Draco could see his mother was just terrified Blaise was going to turn into her mother and slit Draco’s throat during a game of exploding snap, but she was being vicious in her attempt to convince him. In turn, seven year old Draco was pulling out every horrible insult her could think of. The argument ended when Lucius stormed in and pulled them apart.

   Draco remembered running off to his bedroom to have a tantrum, but now he saw what happened once he had left his parents alone. Lucius strode over and seized his wife’s arm. “You are being paranoid,” he had snarled. “That family is an extremely good match for Draco and I insist you let his affection for Blaise develop unhindered. _Do you understand?”_

   Narcissa quailed away, her fear and anger suppressed behind a trebling lip.

   Through his mothers memories, Draco watched as his and Narcissa’s relationship crumbled. The more she tried to love and protect him, the meaner he became, the further away he pulled. He felt sick, realising how selfish he’d been, how much he’d let himself be manipulated by his father.

   It wasn’t until he saw his twelve year old self seated at the kitchen table did Draco realise what the memories were building towards. She couldn’t have missed this moment out from the collection, of course not. But Draco felt panic hit him like a fist as he worked out what he was about to witness, and he turned to grab the door and run away.

   But he was trapped. He was in the Pensive to watch the memories, and that’s what he had to do. It didn’t stop him from pressing himself as far back away from the table as possible.

   Young Draco was swinging his feet back and forth looking about the room. His left hand was resting on his right forearm, and Draco knew it was because he’d just got a tattoo there and it was still stinging. But the other Draco looked happy. He was excited about showing his mother.

   Draco felt sick, and he heard the shouting before his younger counterpart did, because he was straining for it.

   _“What were you thinking?”_ screamed Narcissa from several rooms away, and suddenly twelve year old Draco realised his parents were arguing. He looked up horrified in the direction of their voices as Lucius ranted about family and honour, and the colour drained from the child’s already pale face.

   “He’s just a boy, just a baby,” sobbed Narcissa, bursting through the kitchen door and seizing her son’s arm, not even looking at him as she yanked up his sleeve to see it was true for herself. She gave a little gasp as the tender looking skull and snake came into view, and young Draco snatched his arm back with a hiss of pain. He looked up at his mother with scared and confused eyes.

   “You’re hurting him,” cried Lucius as he strode in and pulled Draco too him, still cradling his arm.

   Narcissa smacked the back of the nearest dining room chair making it bang on the floor with a loud crack. “He wouldn’t be hurt if you hadn’t _branded him_ like some _animal.”_

   Lucius turned from her to crouch in front of Draco. “I want you to go to your room,” he said, almost warmly. “Your mother’s not feeling well.”

   Young Draco nodded and did as he was told, but the present day Draco had to stay as Lucius turned back to his hysterical wife. “Calm. Down,” he said, his tone dangerous. But Narcissa fled from the room, sobbing and pulling at her hair. “You’ve made him one of them, one of _you,_ he doesn’t understand, he’s just trying to please you and it will get him _killed!”_

   Draco followed his parents into one of the drawing rooms as Lucius grabbed his mother’s wrist and spun her round. “We have been _chosen_ by The Dark Lord for this honour,” he bellowed, shaking her arm. “I will not hear a single word more on the matter.”

   “But he’s too young,” wailed Narcissa, distraught. “I know what you all do, it’s madness, reckless madness, I can’t, I won’t-”

   Lucius pushed her down onto an armchair. “You can and you will,” he growled pointing a finger at her. “It’s already been decided, there’s nothing you can do.”

   Narcissa curled up into a ball, her cries raking through her body. “I won’t let you,” she gasped. “You can’t take him from me, I won’t let you.”

   Draco stood and watched his father stare at his shaking mother for what felt like a very long time. Narcissa continued to cry, uttering “you can’t” and “I won’t” intermittently. Eventually, Lucius turned and left the room without a word, his face a hard mask. Draco didn’t spare him even a glance as he did, just sank to his knees by the chair and wished he could offer his mother’s memory some comfort.

   She must have fallen asleep, because the room suddenly went dark as night had fallen. Draco jerked to his feet at the sudden sound of footsteps, and Narcissa stirred from her doze. Lucius walked into the room, followed by two men Draco didn’t recognise.

   He felt weak at the knees, unable to warn his mother in any way as she groggily sat up in the chair, eyes blinking at her husband as she remembered what had been happening.

   Lucius had his hands gripped very tightly on his black cane with the silver snake head. The two other men stood silently behind him, waiting for instruction.

   Narcissa looked between them and Lucius. “What’s going on?” she croaked, her sleepy eyes wide.

   Draco wasn’t sure, but he could of sworn his father’s lip trembled. “I’m sorry Sissy,” he whispered.

   The two men standing behind him sprung to life, and pounced on Narcissa before she had a chance to register what was happening.

   “What are you doing!” she shrieked as they yanked her to her feet. “Get off me, Lucius? _Lucius!”_

   Once on her feet the men began dragging her across the room kicking and screaming. “Lucius what’s happening, what are they doing? Lucius _help me!”_

But Lucius Malfoy just stood there, his eyes fixed on the chair where his wife had been sleeping moments before. Her screams continued out into the hallway.

   “Lucius you can’t do this, he’s _too young!”_

   Draco was crying, a silent ghost helpless to rescue his poor mother. He stepped up to the memory of his father, glaring him down. A single tear fell down the man’s cheek. “I’m sorry Sissy,” he whispered again, and then the screaming abruptly stopped.

 

***

 

   Draco tumbled back into his mother’s dusty study, arms flailing so wildly he knocked Dobby clean off his feet, showering them both with lemonade. They both landed on their elbows, Draco panting like a marathon runner, Dobby scrambling straight to his feet to dart to his master’s side.

   “Master Draco!” he squeaked. “Are you okay! Draco’s wasn’t here and Dobby didn’t know what to do!” Draco took several moments to catch his breath and slow his heart down. His insides felt like a pit full of fiery snakes, but his forehead was covered in cold sweat.

   “I’m fine Dobby,” he said eventually, patting the little elf on the arm.

   “Is Draco sure?” he replied, fussing over him and brushing ice off his shoulders. “Is there anything Dobby can do?”

   Draco stared at the Pensive, his mother’s screams resonating in his ears. “Yes,” he said, slamming the lid back on to conceal the memories. “You can get me the Hell out of this house.”

 

***

 

   There was about a second before anybody could think of anything to say or do. Harry’s sudden appearance had shocked them all into immobility. Harry knew it wouldn’t last.

   _“Libermento!”_ he roared at Hermione as he snatched her wand from by his feet and threw it at her. As the ropes that held her tumbled to the floor she plucked the wand from the air and turned on the nearest Death Eaters before they could attack.

   _“Expelliarmus!”_ she shouted, pulling the gag from her mouth.

   By then Hell had well and truly broken loose. The men and women robed in black rushed towards the prisoners but Harry was already blasting them back. Ron, who’s hands had not yet been tied, flung himself towards Harry as a nasty jet of green light flew over his head, reaching eagerly for his own wand. Harry threw it to him as he jumped off the table, the rest of the wands safely in his grasp, and tipped the table over so they could duck behind it. Draco threw himself unceremoniously by Harry’s side as Ron, now also ungagged, shot at the Death Eaters with one hand and dragged Tonks, still bleeding and unconscious, back into safety.

   Harry fired several protection spells at the table then another Libermento spell at Draco, who took no time in yanking the cloth from his mouth and finding his wand from the pile. “Took your time,” he said to Harry, a big grin on his face, before he ducked his head to the side of the table and fired off a spell.

   Harry looked over to see Hermione and Sirius back to back over Remus, who although had been untied was too injured to move. They must have erected some sort of reflective spell around them that was stopping most of the spells from getting through to them. Most, but not all.

   Several Death Eaters lay unconscious on the floor, but at least as many were still fighting having taken cover in the lower seating levels. Harry saw his old friends Mr Welshman and Salt-and-Pepper hiding behind a water fountain. The Welsh one fired a spell every now and again, but Salt-and-Pepper seemed to just be content to cover his ears with his hands and hum.

   The little curly-haired woman that had punched Sirius suddenly made a break for it and dove towards to watery main doors that led out from Courtroom Ten. Harry knew if she got through she would fetch Lucius and the others as reinforcements.

   “Stop her!” he yelled out to whoever was listening, but the spells he and Ron fired hit nothing but water.

   They ducked back behind the table as it rocked from the force of several curses hitting it at once. Harry thought he heard a worrying splintering noise, but at that moment Sirius let go a strangled cry of pain.

   “Cover me,” said Draco before even checking what had happened.  

   Harry’s stomach lurched as the blond boy jumped up and ran into the fray. Harry didn’t have time to think, he just leapt up too and fired at as many black robes he could find, an unrelenting assault that Ron took only a moment to join him in. Tonks made a moaning noise by their feet, but Harry didn’t dare take a moment to check and see if she was awake.

   Hermione was spinning round like a waltzer gone mad, shooting spells frantically in every direction possible. She didn’t have a very good aim, but the onslaught was so great she had all the Death Eaters dodging out of her way until Draco could reach her side. Sirius had crumpled by Remus, and the both of them were now panting, bleeding, and clutching their sides.

   “We should get to higher ground.”

   Harry darted behind the table in shock. A battered looking Tonks was rubbing her head, her wand firmly in hand. She’d obviously performed some healing spells on herself whilst Harry’s back had been turned. “If we can get a height advantage,” she continued, “they won’t stand a chance, the others can fall back with us then.”

   Harry only took a moment to think it over. “Agreed,” he said as Ron shot at anyone who tried to aim at Hermione or Draco circling protectively over the injured adults between them.

   They couldn’t hold out much longer.

   “Tonks,” whispered Harry urgently. “You take over the spells, Ron, help me lift the table.” After being unconscious for hours Harry figured there was no way the young witch would be able to move the heavy wooden table, but she didn’t seem to mind her new task.

   The two swapped positions in an instant, and Harry and Ron grabbed the top leg on their respective sides of the table. “Go!” hissed Harry, and they were moving backwards, towards the stairway that lead back up to the circle where Harry had just jumped from. Tonks’ spells were more varied and colourful than Harry’s or Ron’s had been, and so was her language. She was obviously ready for some payback after her ordeal, and soon a number of the Death Eaters were sprawled on the floor sporting tentacles, boils or feathers.

   “Take that!” she crowed through a split lip as a skinny chap crashed to the ground, his wand sprawling from his hand. Tonks’ eyes lit up and she darted her own hand out to snag it. She let out a mischievous laugh and began her onslaught again, but this time with the added advantage of using two wands. The Death Eater’s wasn’t as powerful as her own, and her left aim not as good, but she was still volleying off an array of dazzling spells.

   Draco had taken a hit on his shoulder, and he was now cradling it protectively. There weren’t that many black robed figures left standing, but Harry knew it couldn’t be long before the others arrived to help.

   “Up the stairs!” Harry told Ron as they reached the steps. He didn’t need telling twice as he bolted up to the second level with Tonks right behind him. Harry remained crouched behind the table, firing at the few Death Eaters that were left standing. Once Tonks made it to the balcony though it was practically all over, as she blasted everyone she could reach into unconsciousness or at least ensured they could no long point a wand.

   Harry jumped from behind the table and ran to Hermione and Draco. “You okay?” he cried, heaving his godfather up and hooking his head under his arm to carry him.

   “Better for seeing you,” said Hermione breathlessly as she gave Remus her hand so he could stand. “Let’s get out of here.”

   “Mum.”

   Harry was already on his way to the stairs with Sirius when Draco spoke, but he turned so they were shuffling sideways to see what was happening.

   Draco and Hermione were supporting Remus between them, Draco on his good shoulder, Hermione with most of her body. But Draco was holding his other hand out, looking at the crying blonde woman who had been cowering behind Lucius.

   If course that was Draco’s mother, realised Harry slightly horrified. His dead mother, the mother he had lost.

   Suddenly Harry was far more concerned about Draco’s metal well-being rather than his physical.

   Narcissa Malfoy was curled up on the floor, her knees to her chest, her back to the wall right next to the watery entrance way. “Mum?” said Draco again more urgently, shaking his open hand. “Mum come on, come with me,” he pleaded.

   She stared at his palm as if it were holding a live grenade.

   “Mum?”

   She just looked up at him with bewildered eyes.

   Draco looked as if he was going to let go of Sirius and go and physically pick the woman up, but at that moment Harry saw movement in the water outside the courtroom.

   “We have to move, _now!”_ he called out, dragging Sirius up the stairs. With a tortured look Draco spun Remus, Hermione and himself around, and together they ran for the walkway up to the circle.

   Lucius Malfoy burst through the watery entrance just as they reached the top of the stairs. It only took him a moment to scan the scene to see something had gone very wrong in his absence. Tonks fired a curse that missed him by inches, and he jumped backwards in shock.

   _“Draco!”_ he bellowed, spinning around as he threw up several shield spells and furiously looked around the room. Draco however was too busy laying Remus down on the second level to do anything more than grit his teeth at the sound of his father’s ravings.

   Harry had entrusted Sirius to Tonks, who had pocketed the spare wand and was already fast at work with her healing spells, then whipped round to peer through the missing knot in the wood. Several Death Eaters were splashing out of the wall of water, instantly on their guard, including the little auburn haired woman, who almost had a feral look on her would-be-pretty face.

   _“Protego Totalum!”_ cried Hermione, performing another shield spell above the balcony to protect them as a number of Death Eaters tried to run up after them. Once they smashed into the invisible barrier and tumbled back down the stairs, a torrent of vicious spells were hurtled their way, but the combination of Hermione’s charm and the wooden balcony meant the bedraggled group was reasonably well protected for the moment.

   Sirius was already back up on his feet with Tonks, shooting down on the Death Eaters so they didn’t throw anything too nasty up at them. A protective charm would do them little good if the whole floor collapsed.

   “We need to get out of here!” cried Harry. “There’s a secret passageway at the top, everyone up the aisle!”

   They didn’t need telling twice as the group sprinted towards the two-way mirror. All except Draco, who stood frozen staring at his mother as Lucius shook and roared at her for letting their son escape.

   “You can’t help her,” said Harry urgently, his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

   Draco couldn’t seem to make his feet move. “I – she doesn’t know what she’s doing, I can’t-”

   Harry tugged on his shoulder. “They won’t hurt her,” he said, hoping he was right. “She’s one of them.”

   “She was before!” countered Draco pulling free and lurching towards the staircase. That’s when Hermione’s protective spell gave way.

   Draco only just had time to duck as a blast of green light hurtled through the courtroom. Harry did the first thing he could think of, and screamed _“Vapouritium!”_ which instantly filled the air in front of him with thick, grey smoke. He seized Draco by the collar and manually yanked him backwards. Coughing, the two boys scrambled up the steps towards the half open secret passageway. Harry was glad the others hadn’t needed an explanation of their escape route.

   Draco leapt through the hole with Harry right behind him, and he heaved the mirror shut before the Death Eaters could see where they had disappeared to. Draco swore, very loudly, and bashed the stone wall in anger. “Why wouldn’t she come with me?” he cried, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “I have to go back!” Harry grabbed hold of both his shoulders as he lunged for the mirror.

   “No!” he said. “She made her choice – you can’t just hand yourself over!”

   Draco shoved him backwards, and Harry was so stunned for a moment he didn’t realised he had scraped his palms. Draco pointed a quivering finger at him. “I watched her _die._ I wasn’t there for her and they punished me through _her!”_

   “That’s _not_ your mother!” shouted Harry, hating himself. His voice echoed along the dank stone corridor, the dim torches flickering. “That woman was too scared to save herself, and you cannot hold yourself responsible!”

   “You have no idea!” cried Draco.

   “I have _every_ idea!” Harry yelled back. “You’re talking to the only person who has any _kind_ of idea!” His hands were shaking so badly he had to wrap them around his body. “My parents died to save me and I never even knew them until last November! I had to let them go and give the other Harry back his life and it almost killed me, and now, the sister I never should have had, who I had to let go too, is not only back but probably _dead!”_

   Something snapped in Draco. “She’s not dead,” he said, suddenly calm.

   “What?” said Harry.

   “She – I helped her escape, under the water, outside the courtroom.” He suddenly smiled. “And my father didn’t have her, did he, when he came back in, so she must still be safe.” He reached out and shook Harry by the arm. “She’s safe!”

   Harry didn’t realise how worried he’d been until he slumped against the wall. “You’re sure?”

   “Come on,” said Draco, still smiling. “We have to find her”.

   Draco turned to go, but Harry caught his wrist. “But, your mum?”

   Draco sagged to his knees and looked out the two-way mirror. The smog was clearing and Harry could see the frenzy of activity going on in the desperate search to find them. He didn’t know if the mirror could be opened from the other side, but he really hoped not.

   “You’re right,” said Draco quietly. “I know it’s not her. My mother was once like that, but after...after the school, she was strong, and brave, and funny. I did try to help her, but she wouldn’t follow.”

   “I’m sorry,” Harry said genuinely. Draco managed to smile.

   “Don’t be,” he said. “Who knows – maybe this is what tips her over in your world? Maybe after this she and the other me will stop being idiots and pick the right bloody side.”

   Harry smiled too. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Maybe they will.”

   It didn’t take the boys long to edge along the little tunnel to Courtroom Seven. Draco, who was up front, stopped abruptly at the watery barrier, but Harry let out a tired laugh. “You just have to hold your breath for a moment,” he said, coming up awkwardly beside him. “Trust me.” He inhaled deeply, hoping the water hadn’t risen too much, and plunged into the lukewarm depths.

   He swam upwards straight away, and was greeted with a chorus of cries when his head broke the surface.

   “Where have you been?” accused Hermione.

   “We were so worried!” said Ron.

   “I was about to make Remus go back for you,” chimed in Sirius.

   Draco shot up spluttering water by Harry’s side, making everyone jump. “Whoa,” he said, shaking his head to get the water out of his hair and eyes. Their heads were almost touching the ceiling the water had risen so much, and it gave the room a very claustrophobic effect.

   “You there!”

   Harry turned around to see Roberta Charlton peeking out from the top of an almost completely submerged portrait by the door. Sir William was still by her side, with a somewhat reluctant Lady Elizabeth clinging to his arm. Harry worried whether or not the water would make the paint run, but the portraits seemed alright so far.

   “Where’s the girl?” asked Roberta, addressing Draco. “The plucky one? You better not have lost her!”

   “I helped her escape,” he assured the painting, whilst helping Harry, who could barely swim at all, to stay afloat. “We need to find her.”

   “And stop this water,” said Hermione. “If those people wake up before it’s gone they’ll all drown.”

   “And,” said Remus, “if at all possible, we need to discover what You-Know-Who is up to, and put an end to it.”

   “Is that all?” demanded Ron. “Because you know, for a minute there, I thought we were all in real trouble.”

   Harry’s feet knocked against something that felt like a cabinet or desk, so with great relief he managed to direct his body backwards and stand on the furniture. Draco was quick to follow his lead.

   “Perhaps,” said Harry slowly. “We should spilt up?”

   The rest of the group looked warily round. “But,” said Sirius, “we’ve only just found each other.”

   “I know,” said Harry heavily. “But there’s too much at stake. Sarah’s all by herself, and there’s got to be at least a hundred people who’ll die if that curse breaks with all this water still here.”

   “So what do you suggest?” asked Remus. Out of the three adults, he looked the most worse for wear. But he was holding onto a lamp fitting to keep himself afloat, and he had a determined look in his brown eyes.

   “If we only knew what was causing the water,” said Hermione ruefully.

   Harry looked at them all. “Oh,” he said, almost embarrassed. “Oh, of course you wouldn’t know – a couple of Death Eaters found me just when I’d entered the Ministry, and one of them aimed a blue spell at me. It hit that gold fountain instead and then...” he splashed a handful of water to illustrate his point.

   “Ah,” said Draco, smacking his head. “My mum said the fountain was broken.”

   “Blue?” repeated Hermione. “You’re sure it was blue?” Harry nodded as Hermione broke into a smile. “I think I know what that is.”

   “But can you reverse it?” asked Ron, clinging to the chandelier above his head.

   Hermione nodded. “If I’m right, then yes I think so.”

   “Okay,” said Harry decisively. “Hermione, I want you to go back up to the first floor and reverse the spell.”

   “I’ll go with her,” said Draco quickly. “If we get caught, I can at least try and play the Malfoy card again. There might be people upstairs who don’t know what happened in the courtroom.”

   “We can show you a short cut!” cried Roberta eagerly.

   “Great,” said Harry, feeling better already with the start of a plan in place. “Before you go though I need to know exactly what happened to Sarah, I need to find her.”

   “The black haired girl?” said Remus. “Who is she?”

   “We’ll explain later,” said Harry, not wanting to get into any talk of parallel universes right now. “But she doesn’t have her wand, and she’s all alone.” He pulled her wand from his pocket to show them he still had it.

   “She swam down one of the narrow corridors on the way to Courtroom Ten,” said Draco. “I caused a distraction, but I don’t know where they go though.”

   “Which one precisely?” asked Sir William.

   “The last one on the right before the courtroom,” said Draco. Harry looked at him, his white blonde hair plastered back on his head, all the cuts and bruises he’d got. He looked so fragile, but at that moment he was at the top of Harry’s hero list for helping his sister like that.

   “That could take you one of two ways,” said Sir William confidently.

   “Two completely different ways?” Harry clarified. The painting nodded. “Right, that settles it, Draco and Hermione will go to the fountain, the rest of us will split up into two groups and go look for her.” He looked about the room. “Ron, you stay with me, Sirius, Remus and Tonks you take the other way.”

   “Wait, no,” said Sirius. “As least one of us should go with you guys,” said Remus. “You need an adult.”

   Harry shook his head. “No offense,” he said. “But you guys should probably look after each other. You’re the ones that got tortured.” His throat constricted around the word. “You should have the extra person, we’ll be fine.”

   Sirius looked at Remus, and after a pause the two men grimaced. “If you’re sure?”

   Harry nodded.

   “Splendid,” said Roberta. “William and I will take you where the hallways go. Lizzy dear?” she said, raising her voice as if to address a naughty child. “Do you think you could take the other two children to Tandy Spinks office?”

   Lady Elizabeth sighed dramatically. “I suppose,” she said.

   Roberta turned back to Draco. “She always had a bit of a thing about goblin rebellions that one, her office has some kind of secret route up to the top floor.”

   “What kind of route?” asked Draco eagerly.

   Roberta looked at Sir William then back at Draco and Harry. “Well I’m afraid I don’t know dear,” she said apologetically. “It’s a _secret.”_

 

***

 

   Draco really didn’t want to follow the portrait of the young blonde woman. Not only was he abandoning Harry and his friends when they probably needed to stay together the most, but Lady Elizabeth was extremely tedious.

   “Oh _do_ ‘urry up,” she moaned in her thick West Country accent. “I ain’t got all day.”

   “You’re a painting,” puffed Hermione, struggling with a basic breaststroke. “What else have you got to do?”

   Lizzy ignored her as she hopped between half visible frames. Draco turned to glance at the rest of the party as they made their way around the opposite end of the corridor. Harry turned too, and the pair shared a weak smile before plunging down their respective hallways. They didn’t know how long it would be before someone thought to check outside Courtroom Ten, and Level Nine would be the first place they’d look.

   Draco and Hermione followed Lady Cockleton towards the stairs. It was terribly nerve wracking being out in the open like they were, but they’d already agreed to duck under the water at the first hint of any noise. Now all Draco had to worry about was how long he could hold his breath.

   They reached the stairs without any incident though, and hastily fought against the water teeming down the steps to reach Level Eight.

   Level Eight held the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium, and once they left the stairwell Draco and Hermione sloshed down a short entrance hall that ended in a large pair of wrought iron gates, behind which could be seen a jungle paradise. Draco headed straight for the bars and peered through, curious to see if the magical creatures inside were in suspended animation like the Ministry employees. It wasn’t long before he spied several pixies frozen amongst the foliage, and a cross looking niffler halfway between poking the water around him in distain.

   “’Ere you go then,” said Lizzy, bored. “This is the one you want.” Draco turned round to see Hermione entering into an office to the left of the Atrium gates, water sweeping in around her as she pushed open the door.

   “Do you have any idea at all where the short cut might be?” asked Hermione. “Otherwise we could be here for hours and might be better trying to take the stairs.”

   Lady Elizabeth, gave a loud, shrill giggle, hand on her chest, eyes looking wildly about. “As if know,” she said, embarrassed, then fled off down the corridor.

   “Well she was about as much use as a chocolate tea pot,” said Draco scornfully.

   Hermione huffed, hands on hips, then turned back towards Tandy Spinks office and entered. Draco followed, shaking excess water from his dripping clothes and sweeping his hair back from his eyes. Even though the water was only ankle deep it was swirling around at quite a rate and made it pretty difficult to wade through.

   As soon as he reached the door’s threshold Draco stopped. The water had rushed in and moved the items that had been on the floor, but the rest of the office was pretty intact. And a complete and utter pigsty.

   “How are we supposed to find _anything_ in here,” cried Draco at Hermione, who had already started rummaging under a pile of grotty looking clothes. “It looks like a natural disaster!”

   Loose parchment was strewn over every possible flat surface the office had to offer. The walls were covered in white boards which in turn were covered in writing of all kinds of different colours. Three calendars were pinned to the wall, all from different years and displaying different months. There were boxes of various different animal pellets and food stuffs, including a glass jar of live locus. A greasy old bike was propped up under the ‘window’ (which showed a starry night scene even though they were eight floors underground) and from the bike hung a number of pairs of socks and leads that looks like they went round the necks of very large animals. Numerous cheep looking toys and gadgets that probably came from the insides of Christmas crackers were scattered across the desk and shelves, and there were so many books on magical zoology lying half open everywhere Draco lost count. The bin floated into his shin, causing him to look down, and that’s when he realised several dozen fish must have escaped from the now empty tank lying on its side on the carpet, as they were nibbling at his jeans.

   “How can people live like this!”

   Hermione raised an eyebrow at him before moving to the desk and yanking open the drawers one by one. “She doesn’t live like this, she works like this. Each to their own.”

   “But surely,” said Draco, forgetting at that moment their pressing time constraint and splashing over to the desk. “You couldn’t function like this could you, it would drive you insane.”

   Hermione paused and looked up at him. “Well, no,” she said, flicking her tangled hair back. “It’s not how I’d keep my office. There would be far more labels. And an air freshener.”

   Draco smiled, then turned to start his own hunt. He knew Hermione wouldn’t have liked being in such a mess, no matter what reality.

   Hermione slammed the last drawer shut, obviously without finding anything, and gazed about. “Why?” she said.

   “Excuse me?” said Draco, looking up from his examination of a complicated pie chart on one of the boards.

   “Why did you ask that, about me and the mess?”

   Draco stopped rummaging around and looked carefully at her. “Um,” he said, unsure if he’d just stepped over some unknown boundary. His heart beat a little faster just looking at her, even though she was all bedraggled. Especially because she was all bedraggled.

   “I just,” he said, feeling himself go slightly hot. “Well, we’re...friends in my world, and it would have surprised me if you tolerated this amount of rubbish. My Hermione would have started alphabetising everything by now.”

   Hermione wrapt her fingers on the desk. “Your Hermione,” she said with an air of curiosity, her eyes already scanning the next pile of papers and crisp packets.

   Draco turned away from her. She was a different person, he told himself again, pulling books off the shelf and trying his best to examine them. She didn’t even look like his Hermione he reasoned, there were a number of subtle differences, like looking at twins when you really knew them. But she still spoke with her voice, still bit her lip and twisted her hands in the same way.  

   “Oh!” she cried, and Draco spun on his heals to see why. The lid of a trinket box was in Hermione’s hand, and from the box a purple mist was rising out. It wasn’t like gas just escaping though, it floated up like a bird taking flight, then shot across the room impossibly fast and absorbed into a large coat of arms hanging between two of the calendars.

   The shield and crossed swords seemed to absorb the mist and now glittered faintly purple. Engraved on the shield were two centaurs with their front legs rearing at one another, but as the cloud settled on them they sprung to life and backed away from each other, shaking as if they were stiff. The engraving on the left suddenly looked suspicious.

   “Where is Miss Spinks?” he demanded.

   Draco and Hermione looked at each other. Draco raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know,” he said honestly. “But she’s probably in trouble like the rest of the people round here.”

   “We’re looking for a secret passageway up to the entrance foyer, do you know anything about that?”

   The left centaur crossed his arms. “Maybe,” he said evasively. “How do we know you haven’t hurt her yourselves?”

   Draco thought he might snap. “We haven’t got time-!”

   But Hermione calmly interrupted. “The Ministry has been taken over by You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters.” She held her hands together. “You can go check if you like?”

   The right centaur pawed at the ground. “That’s a pretty bold claim,” she said. Hermione held her hand out towards the open door.

   “I said you could go check.”

   The creatures looked at one another. “Okay,” said the male. “Say I believe you. You might have found your passageway, but we need an offering.”

   “An offering?” repeated Hermione, her joy at being told they’d found the secret route visibly diminishing. “What kind of offering?”

   “The oldest kind,” said the female on the right.

   Hermione looked at Draco exasperated. “Can’t you just tell us plainly, we’re in a hurry!”

   “Don’t you think,” said the male centaur. “The passageway might be just a little less secret if we told any old person who came in how to open it?”

   Draco sighed, his stomach squirming ever so slightly. “It’s okay Hermione,” he said. “I know what they mean.” He’d had to give the oldest kind of offering at the docks when he was a boy. “I need a knife.”

   “A knife?” she repeated. “What on Earth for?”

   “Not that I’m helping,” said the male centaur. “Because I’m not. But just...in case you were wondering. The swords are detachable.”

   “Ah,” said Draco, understanding and pulling out one of the blades. It slid smoothly from its scabbard behind the shield, and balanced nicely in his hand.

   “What are you going to do with that?” asked Hermione nervous.

   Draco pressed the edge of the sword to his palm, and tried not to think of what had happened last time. “This,” he said, then sliced a cut into his hand.

   Hermione gasped and her hand shot to her mouth. Draco tried not to look at the blood seeping through his closed fist, and reached out to smear it on the shield. The centaurs flicked droplets off themselves, but otherwise didn’t say a word.

   “What now?” asked Hermione.

   Draco shrugged, his hand stinging.

   But then the male centaur saluted at them, and the female said “good luck,” before the two of them froze back into place. The shield swung forwards, revealing a staircase behind it, winding upwards in a tight spiral.

   “I’m so glad that worked,” said Draco, shaking blood from his hand as Hermione squealed in delight.

   “Oh, here let me see that,” she said, seizing his hand and flipping it over to inspect the wound. Draco instantly tensed at the sudden contact, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice as she performed a perfectly executed Episkey charm. “Good as new,” she said, beaming as she let go of his now healed hand. “Shall we?”

   “Erm,” said Draco. “Yeah, I’ll go first.”

   “Oh no,” said Hermione pleasantly patting him on the arm and stepping up to the stairway. “I know far more magic than you do.”

   Draco didn’t feel this was very chivalrous, but she did have a point. “Alright,” he said following her, closing the shield behind them. “But I’m keeping hold of the sword, just in case.”

   Hermione snorted and said something like “boys” under her breath.

   They climbed the steps for several minutes, most of which Draco spent looking strategically at the floor on not Hermione’s jeans ahead of him, and towards the end of it they were both panting a little. “I think my thighs are going to cramp,” said Hermione, stopping to massage them. Draco wasn’t sure what to reply to that. Luckily, up above he could just see the end of the stairs, so ran up to the blank brick wall that greeted him after the last step.

   “It’s a dead end,” he called down.

   Hermione limped up the last few feet. “Do you still have any blood on your hand?” Draco frowned at her a second, then understanding dawned on him. Perhaps it required another blood sacrifice, but maybe this time he wouldn’t have to slash his whole palm open.

   He rubbed what was left of the blood on the wall, and stood back to see if anything would happen. Hermione came and stood behind him, anxiously watching too. After a moment, there was a creek, and the wall edged outwards, letting a river of water in from the entrance hall. Draco was taken by surprise by the water and almost pin-wheeled backwards, sword in hand.

   “Whoa!” cried Hermione leaping away. Draco clung to the doorway and steadied himself.

   “Sorry,” he muttered, then turned to slosh out into Level One of the Ministry of Magic. The door swung shut after Hermione left the stairwell to show them it was hidden behind a portrait of an old Minister of Magic from the Eighteenth Century.

   “Oh good!” cried the gentleman in a buttoned dress coat and cravat. “I thought you were more of those scoundrels!” He adjusted his white curly wig and looked about fretfully.

   It wasn’t hard to spot the fountain, even if Draco hadn’t known which one Harry had been talking about. In the middle of the vast room stood the remains of the lobby’s prized centre piece, the golden witches and wizards melted and distorted by the spell. The golden house elf had managed to escape mutilation and was now looking pretty smug about it. From the pool of the fountain gallons of water were churning out like there was no tomorrow, causing waves to emanate from the structured in all directions.

   Draco and Hermione pushed forwards towards it; there was no sign of anyone else in the entrance hall with them. “How do we stop it?” asked Draco, sword still up and ready in case any Death Eaters decided to spring out at them.

   Hermione reached the fountain and studied the point of impact carefully. “I should be able to perform the counter spell,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m just not a hundred percent sure about the hand movement.”

   “Give it a try,” encouraged Draco, turning to survey the rest of the hall for any signs of intruders. “We haven’t really got anything to lose at this stage.”

   Hermione spent the next five minutes splashing around the fountain, muttering and flicking her wand. Draco watched all the exits he could see on tenterhooks, expecting someone to burst out at them at any second. The water tugged at his feet, threatening to pull them out from under him at any moment. The former Minister whispered to another man in a portrait adjacent to him, and the two raised their eyebrows.

   “Yes!” cried Hermione suddenly, and Draco’s feet really did go out from under him as the water suddenly, violently, reversed direction. He crashed to the floor, spraying water everywhere, and lost his grip on the hilt of the sword underneath the depths. “We did it, we did it!” Hermione practically sang as she waded around from the other side of the fountain.

   Draco couldn’t help but grin as he fumbled about trying to locate the sword under the surging currents. “I’m pretty sure you did it,” he said.

   “Yes,” came the voice of Lucius Malfoy from behind them. “Aren’t you a clever pair?”

 

***

 

   Of two things Sarah Potter was currently very glad of from her childhood. One, that her father had insisted she learned a basic front crawl, despite how much she loathed putting her head below water. And two, that she had been the undefeated, unrefuted queen of hide and seek.

   All her friends had grown to know that when it came to finding hiding places, no one was better at it than she, and games would generally only end when Sarah chose to reveal herself, often with a loud cry of “BOO!” Her favourite trick, which she’d gotten away with on several different friends, was to clamber into a wardrobe, slide her feet into some boots and wrap herself in a coat then do it up.

   It was using this technique that she’d come to come to find herself inside a suit of armour on Level Six of the Ministry of Magic, perched uncomfortably as she watched Death Eater after Death Eater slosh angrily past on the hunt for her.

   She was cold, she was scared, and her stomach was making far too much noise for her liking. But at least for now she was safe.

   Her escape after Draco’s diversion had been a frenzied one. As he’d thrashed about and churned up a wall of bubbles to conceal her, she’d thrown herself down the dark, water-logged corridor in a powerful breaststroke, vanishing round the corner before anyone even knew she was gone. She’d not stopped until she found Level Nine again, then sprinted up the stairs as fast as she could.

   Just after passing Level Seven, the floor with all the Quidditch offices that she’d been held in before, voices had begun shouting not far behind her. Panicking, she’d darted down the next available door, taking her into Level Six which was home to all sorts of regulatory boards and filled with standard looking offices. But Sarah knew they’d look in the offices, and that was when she’d spotted the suit of armour.

   It was stood in a hallway several twists and turns away from the doorway to the stairs, so Sarah figured even if someone did alight at this floor to look for her she’d have enough warning to hide herself or run. Her hand had been halfway in her pocket before she’d remembered that Draco’s dad had taken her wand from her.

   She’d cursed and stamped her boot through the water, watching angrily as the ripples ebbed back into the currents. She knew she wasn’t very good at magic, something she was becoming more and more conscious of since returning to school, but at least she could do some things, like perhaps levitate the top half of the armour off so she could get inside. She’d glared at the gleaming metal figure as if it was his fault she’d had her wand confiscated, but then she’d sighed. She didn’t have a whole lot of time, so unless she wanted to crawl under a desk she’d better get on with separating the torso from the legs.

   She could of course kept running, try and get to the top floor and get out onto the street level. But she only had the stairs to go up, which now the Death Eaters were using, and if she did by some miracle get out who could she call for help? The school and the Ministry were both frozen, and she didn’t have any family here.

   The thought of her dead parents had made her angry again, so she’d taken the last couple of steps up to the suit of armour and grabbed it around the waist decisively.

   “Do you need a hand there?”

   She’d jumped back, terrified, but there was no one else in the corridor. That was when the suit had raised its hand, and waved.

   “Hello,” it had said pleasantly. “You alright there?” Its visor squeaked up and down an inch or two as it spoke, and the plume of its helmet ruffled as it turned its head to the side.

   Sarah then edged back up to the suit. “Is there someone in there?” she’d whispered, looking back down the hallway to make sure no Death Eaters were sneaking up on her.

   “Oh Heavens no,” the suit had laughed, flicking its metal glove in a dismissive wave. “Just little old me.” It sounded like a man, but Sarah didn’t want to think of it as a ‘he’ – ‘it’ seemed less creepy.

   “Oh,” Sarah had said to him, her heart still thumping loudly. “Oh okay, well I was going to hide...in you. But if that’s not appropriate I’ll just find somewhere else.”

   “Nonsense,” the suit of armour had insisted. “You’re hiding from those terrible people aren’t you? I’d simply love to help.”

   And with that, the suit had reached up to the torch bracket above its head, grabbed a hold, then lifted its top half off the bottom. He’d held on with one hand, and extended the other out to Sarah. “Climb on in,” he’d said brightly.

   After clambering inside, the suit had reattached itself, leaving Sarah to wait as the bad guys started angrily wading past her, cursing her name.

   That had been maybe an hour, forty five minutes ago? She’d lost track of time with nothing to do but listen to the water lap around her shins, but what she was sure of was about twenty minutes ago there’d been a lot of shouting to get back to Courtroom Ten, and Sarah hadn’t seen a soul since. Her adrenaline was waning, and as her heart rate slowed fluttering nerves filled her belly, and she began to torture herself with what she should do. How much longer could she risk staying in the suit of armour, how soon should she try and leg it?

   “You doing alright in there?” the suit whispered to her, the words echoing around the helmet leaving a ringing in her ears.

   “I guess,” she whispered back, wiggling her wet toes in her even wetter boots. “I don’t know if they’ve all gone, if I should stay here or make a run for it?”

   “Hmm,” said the suit, and nodded the helmet ever so slightly. “Stay here a moment.”

   Sarah couldn’t help but look around in the dimly lit armour. “Where am I going to go?” She didn’t get a response, and after a few minutes she began to feel herself panic. Having a animated bit of metal to keep her company was better than nothing, and suddenly she felt very alone. “Hello?” she whispered.

   “Yes?” replied the suit, and Sarah blew out a sigh of relief.

   “I thought you’d gone?” she accused.

   “Oh no,” said the suit assuredly. “I can’t _go_ anywhere, I was just listening to what the paintings had to say, see what’s happening around the Ministry.”

   “Oh,” said Sarah, not really understanding. “Any luck?”

   “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

   There was a sloshing noise from down the corridor, and Sarah instantly tensed up in fear. But then she heard the people talking.

   “That’s him!” cried Roberta Charlton, the painting with the muddy robes and whistle around her neck that had been nice to Sarah when she’d been a prisoner before.

   “Are you certain?” asked Remus Lupin.

   “They all look the same,” said a woman that Sarah guessed to be Tonks.

   The suit of armour raised its arm, which was bizarre with Sarah’s inside it. “Over here,” it called out, its visor bouncing up and down. To Sarah it said “arms up,” and as she obeyed it reached up once again and pulled itself apart using the torch bracket.

   Sirius Black, her Godfather back home, was the first to reach her and throw his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he said, yanking her carefully out of the suit’s legs and dropping her back into the water.

   He wasn’t her Sirius, that much was very obvious. He looked so much older, his clothes and person more ragged. But that smile was still there, and his eyes, always filled with light no matter what. She couldn’t help but throw her arms around him, tears spilling down her already wet face.

   “I’m okay,” she shuddered, burying her face in his neck as he returned her tight embrace.

   “It’s alright,” he whispered soothingly, stroking her hair. “It’s alright.”

   “What happened to the others?” she asked suddenly, pulling apart just in time to see the suit of armour twist itself back together again. “Draco, he helped me escape-”

   “They brought them to the courtroom with us,” interrupted Sirius. “Then his father took most of the Death Eaters back into the water to go find you. Just when things started getting hairy, Harry dropped in – literally – and broke us all lose.”

   Sarah felt faint. “Harry’s here? He’s okay?”

   Sirius nodded but it was her other Godfather, Remus who answered. “Yes, we’re not sure where he came from, we didn’t have much time to chat before we split up.”

   A flash of anger went through Sarah which she did her best to quell. She knew she was irritable from exhaustion, but she couldn’t help it. “Why on Earth did you split up!” she demanded. “If you’d all stayed together we could just be escaping right now!”

   “Shh,” said Tonks, holding her hands up. “They’ll hear you.”

   “Who?” snapped Sarah. “All the Death Eaters disappeared about twenty minutes ago, they all went back to Courtroom Ten.” The three adults looked at each other.

   “Well that can’t be good,” said Remus.

   “So where’s Harry?” asked Sarah, still cross they’d thought splitting up was a good idea.   “What happened to him in the fire place.”

   “No idea,” said Sirius, “he didn’t say. But we know where he is now, don’t we Roberta?”

   Sarah had quite forgotten about the painting watching from above them. “Oh yes,” she chirped. “Sir William took them down the other corridor looking for you.”

   Sarah suddenly felt very guilty for her outburst. They’d split up to look for her? “Oh,” she said quietly.

   “I’m sure we’ll be able to find them in no time,” assured Remus.

   “The sooner the better,” agreed Tonks. “Harry’s the one with your wand after all, I bet you’ll be glad to get that back.”

   “Oh,” said Sarah, a little disappointed. “Yeah, my wand would be great.”

   “Hang on,” said Tonks frowning, then shoved her hand into her pocket. “Nicked this off of one of You-Know-Who’s cronies, sure he won’t mid you putting it to better use.” She grinned and handed it over for Sarah to take.

   “Thanks,” she breathed, genuinely grateful, but before she could say anything more she was distracted into looking down. The water she’d become so used to was no longer swirling around her ankles; it was pulling. Back towards the stairwell. “Is it me,” she said slowly. “Or is the water...”

   “Going backwards,” filled in Sirius. “Yes I do believe you’re right.”

   “Hermione and Draco must have fixed it,” said Tonks brightly, staring as the water rushed by, taking debris from the offices with it. They were soon in a log-jam of waste paper baskets.

   “Hermione and Draco split up too?” said Sarah in a small voice. She didn’t like to think of them in more danger, not one little bit.

   “They wanted to stop the flooding,” explained Remus. “Otherwise everyone in the building was at risk of drowning at any second.”

   Sarah stood and watched the water receding. “This is all such a mess,” she said sadly.

   Sirius rubbed her shoulder, “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll sort it, I promise.”

   “Do you two know each other?” said Remus, almost accusingly. “Who are you anyway?” He was just as ravaged looking as Sirius noted Sarah as she took a step away from them both. The loss of her parents must have hit them harder than she could have imagined.

   “This isn’t the time,” said Sirius, but Remus was peering at her.

   “You look awfully familiar you know,” he murmured.

   Sarah looked between the adults. She didn’t know what Harry had told them about his trip to her reality last November, but Sirius was looking nervous, and Remus and Tonks curious. “The people!” she blurted out, then wasn’t really sure what to follow it with.

   “What’s that?” asked Tonks, even more confused.

   Sarah’s eyes darted back and forth. What had she meant? “The people,” she said again hesitantly. “Here in the Ministry. They’re not going to drown now, because Hermione fixed the water problem?” She didn’t need to ask, she knew it would be Hermione and not Draco that had the skill to do it. It comforted her in a bizarre sort of way that Draco was almost as hopeless at magic as she was.

   “I guess so,” said Remus, thankfully now distracted from gazing at her distinctly Potter face.

   “So, if they woke up, they’d be okay? Those Wrangler things don’t do any permanent damage do they?”

   The three adults exchanged looks, and Sirius shrugged. “I don’t even know what they are.” So Sarah recounted what Hermione had told them at the school, about the creatures’ telepathic powers, the way all the people were being used like batteries to enhance whatever spells had helped the Death Eaters get into the school and the Ministry.

   “So, now the water’s gone,” she continued, thinking out loud. “Not only would the people be safe if they unfroze, but the spells would weaken and we’d have a lot more good guys on our side.”

   “What are you suggesting?” asked Remus as the waters lowered to little more than a deep puddle around their shoes.

   Sarah chewed her lip. “I want to find Harry, and Draco and the others, I really do. But what good will it be? If we could break the Wranglers’ hold over all the people, maybe we could actually win this thing, stop You-Know-Who, whatever he’s doing.”

   Sirius rubbed the back of his neck and shook his wet hair in a very dog like manner. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. But does anyone have any idea how to do that, or even where to start?”

   “You could try the Menagerie?” piped up Roberta. The humans all turned to look at her.

   “What do you mean?” asked Sarah.

   Roberta pulled at the whistle around her neck, frowning in concentration. “Well,” she said. “Edmund, one of the other paintings, said before you joined us in the boardroom that there were some unusual looking things congregating in the Menagerie, on Level Eight. Big bugs, that sounds like your Wranglers doesn’t it?”

   “Yes,” agreed Remus, hand on his chin. “But how do we stop them, will killing them break the trance? Should we kill them? They’re only doing what comes naturally to them.”

   Sarah turned back to her painting friend. “Did Edmund say what they were doing in the zoo?”

   Roberta pulled a face. “Not really,” she admitted apologetically. “He just said that’s where the big one had settled.”

   Sarah became very still, as did the others. A prickle of hope touched her senses. “A big one?” she repeated. “Like a queen?”

   Roberta looked at her blankly. “A queen?”

   “Yeah,” said Sarah excitedly. “Like with bees and ants, there’s a queen who’s in charge, she binds the hive mind together.”

   Roberta still looked blank. “If you say so dear,” she said encouragingly. “I’m afraid if it didn’t involve a ball I could give a good thwak to I never did pay much attention to it.”

   But Sarah was convinced, and she turned to the three adults. “If we take down the queen, maybe that will break the hold they have on everyone?”

   Remus was already nodding. “It’s a very good idea, in theory. But we don’t know how we’d go about stopping her.”

   Sarah grinned as the water at their feet dwindled to a trickle. “I say we go to the Menagerie and find out.”

 

***

 

   Draco spun on his knees and froze. His father was looming over them, a triumphant smile on his face; until Hermione blasted him backwards into the surging waters. “Come on!” she cried, gabbing Draco’s arm, but he thrust his hands into the water once more to find the sword he’d dropped. “What are you doing, we have to move!”

   “I might need it,” insisted Draco.

   Hermione made to argue, then aimed another curse at his father instead, who swore loudly as he thrashed about in the water, trying to fire back at the two students.

   Mercifully Draco’s fingers found the hilt, and he hoisted the blade from the waters and began retreating with Hermione. But Lucius was back up and shooting at them, so instead they ducked behind the fountain for protection. It was difficult with all the water roaring back into it, but it was better than nothing.

   “Young man!” yelled Lucius, splashing through the raging flow. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but it ends NOW!”

   Draco slung the sword through his belt and fired a disarming spell clumsily around the fountain. “I’m not playing at anything,” he growled back as Hermione aimed a Bat-Bogey Hex at Lucius; from the sounds of it she got him square on, but Lucius was quickly shouting out counter-curses to fend off the hex.

   “You have disgraced this family,” Lucius continued to rant. “You’ve thrown your lot in with Potter and if you don’t come out this second I am disinheriting you!”

   Poor Other Draco, thought Draco as he tried another Expelliarmus spell. “You’re a murderer,” he snarled to his dad, he and Hermione skirting around the fountain to keep it between them and Lucius. “Disinherit all you like, you’re nothing to me.”

   Lucius had nothing to say to that, and Draco took that to be a bad sign. “We have to get out of here,” whispered Hermione between spells. She was just flinging them around wildly now as they could no longer tell where Lucius was.

   “I know, I know,” said Draco. “But I’m no match for him, we need to get his wand-”

   A blast of light hit him square on the chest and he went sailing through the air. “Draco!” screamed Hermione, but before she could attack Lucius she too was thrown in the air, landing a good twenty feet from Draco. Both their wands were now in Lucius’ hand.

   Draco was really sick of having his wand taken from him today.

   “I’m not going to hurt you,” fumed Lucius. “Not if I don’t have to.”

   “We’re not cooperating with you!” screeched Hermione, dripping wet from the water rushing back into the fountain, and evidently also livid at losing her wand again. “We’ll never help out Voldemort, you’ll have to kill us!”

   Lucius raised his wand, and Draco balked. “NO!” he yelled, desperate enough to get his father’s attention. “Forget about her, she’s no one, it’s me you want.”

   Lucius stared at his son as the water raced into the fountain. It was very difficult to stand upright against such force. “Draco,” he said slowly. “You hate this girl.”

   Draco clenched his jaw. “That doesn’t matter,” he said carefully. “Just let her go, this is between you and me.”

   Lucius bristled. “No one,” he said sternly. “Is going anywhere except back down to the courtroom, conscious, or otherwise.”

   Draco pulled out the sword from his belt. He knew it was useless against a wand, but it felt good to hold a weapon up to his father at any rate. “Take your best shot,” he said.

   Lucius just stared, then looked between the two students. “Draco, I am your father. Have you lost your mind?”

   “I know exactly who you are,” Draco spat back, watching Hermione edge away from the corner of his eye. “You are the most selfish, most manipulative and cowardly person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting, let alone being related to.”

   Lucius clenched his jaw, his eyes wide. “I see,” he said. The two Malfoys glowered at each other for a minute or two. Hermione was sloshing closer to the door she was aiming for. It seemed Lucius had forgotten all about her.

“Where does that leave us then?” asked Draco, the sword becoming heavy in his arms. He needed to swing it, lower it, but he didn’t want to show his father any weakness.

   “I will _drag_ you back to The Dark Lord if I have to, you shameful, disobedient little brat!” spat Lucius, the vein in his neck bulging. But his didn’t fire on Draco, when he easily could have. Was he clinging on to something? An idea that his son hadn’t really betrayed him, one last hope? Again, Draco sort of felt sorry for his counterpart. But maybe after this he would wake up to what this man was really like, just like he hoped his mother of this reality would. If Lucius didn’t kill his body – and Draco’s mind inside it – first.

   “You don’t need us,” argued Draco, playing devil’s advocate as Hermione took another step. And then another. Past the door. What was she doing, she should escape? Draco strained to keep his eyes from actually flicking to her, as that would certainly alert Lucius. But why wasn’t she saving herself?

   “You were after that girl, why don’t you just go find her,” said Draco, praying Sarah had been found by Harry or Sirius by now, and would be far away from the Ministry. “We have nothing to do with this.”

   “You made yourself a part of it when you helped her escape!” cried Lucius, finally coming closer to Draco and raising his wand. “You aligned yourself with Potter when you left the courtroom with him! And don’t you dare insult me by pretending you don’t know who the girl is, you were ready to kill for her up in the boardroom.”

“I don’t have to know a little girl to stop you from hurting her,” Draco shouted, edging away from his father’s advances. Hermione was still moving around the room.

   “No,” said Lucius slowly. “You do know her, your mother was insisting how fond you were of her.” He frowned, the wand in his hand bouncing up and down slightly as he pointed at Draco, thinking. “But you can’t possibly know her, she doesn’t exist.”

   So he knew Sarah was from another reality. Something cold flickered through Draco’s heart; was that why Voldemort was after her? “That doesn’t make sense,” was what he said to his father though. “Of course she exists, I’ve seen her.”

   Something strange was passing over Lucius’ face, and Draco wasn’t sure he liked it. “But it’s Potter,” said the elder Malfoy eventually. “Potter’s the one that switched, it can’t be.”

   Draco raised the sword suddenly in front of his face. “Don’t come any closer,” he barked, but Lucius had lowered his wand, a look of horror growing on his features. “No,” he said. “No, it’s not possible, Harry was the one who traded places last time, and now the positions have been traded again, that’s the way it works.”

   “Father,” said Draco, desperately, trying to stop him realising what he knew was already too late. “Father I don’t understand, I’m sorry, I-”

   “You are not my son.”

   Draco stopped talking, stopped moving. “Don’t say that,” he whispered. “Dad, I’m sorry.”

   Lucius suddenly thrashed across the water, wand aimed at Draco’s face. “What have you done with him!” he roared, firing a spell and yanking the sword from Draco’s grasp. He stumbled backwards in shock, falling into the currents. “Where is my son, where is the real Draco!”

   “I don’t know!” snapped Draco, abandoning the facade. He’d wanted to protect his true identity for as long as possible, for fear the truth would grant some power over him. But if Lucius had worked it out lying would only make it worse.

   Lucius stopped in his tracks. “So it’s true?”

   “I was pulled here,” cried Draco, slapping the water, frustrated. “I don’t know why or how, but I woke up in your son’s body just in time to witness his father betray his home, his government and his whole bloody people! I bet he’ll be so proud when he gets back.”

   “So he will come back,” asked Lucius, real concern written all over his face. Draco was taken aback, it was so unlike Lucius to care about his family’s wellbeing.

   “Once I go home,” said Draco, eyeing up his father’s wand. “To my own reality. He’ll wake up, no harm done.”

   Fury replaced Lucius Malfoy’s concern. “Then let’s get you out of his body then,” he snarled, firing a binding curse at Draco’s hands and hauling him to his feet. “You filthy parasite.”

   He turned, and without even needing to look, fired the same spell at Hermione, who had been trying to sneak up on him, a large vase raised over her head to attack him with. It seemed Lucius hadn’t forgotten about her after all.

   He marched them over to the stairwell through the receding water, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I knew my son would never let me down,” he gloated, not caring his fingers were digging into their arms, or how many times they tripped over their feet. “The Dark Lord _will_ be pleased.”

 

***

 

It just about broke Harry’s heart wading through the twisting dungeons that served as the Ministry’s hall of records, though not as much as it would have broken Hermione’s if she were here, he suspected.   Despite being dungeons, they weren’t as low down as the courtroom on Level Ten, or even the offices on Level Nine it seemed. Harry guessed they lay somewhere in between Nine and Eight, and as such were wading through waist high water.

   “This parchment is doing my head in,” moaned Ron, and Harry had to ‘shh’ him, again.

   “There could be Death Eaters anywhere,” he whispered as they looked around another alcove piled high with documents and artefacts. Well, those that hadn’t floated off yet anyway. The dungeons were made of dark stone and there weren’t that many torches, so Harry and Ron both had their wands lit and raised as they searched through as quietly as they could for Sarah. Except Ron kept forgetting about the quiet part. So far they’d come across nothing much, not even many frozen people, but as the currents swirled more and more of the Ministry’s history was being swept out of its boxes and drawers, and being ruined and lost in the water.

   Harry and Ron were now continuously fighting against clogs of paper, files, photographs and charts to get from dungeon to dungeon. Now that the immediate danger had past, Ron was doing what he generally did best, and moaning about the situation. “The water’s really cold again,” he griped, parting a layer of tax returns. “Can’t we heat it up? My legs are numb.”

   “I think,” said Harry patiently. “If we do that, anybody in the same water will probably know we’re here, and this particular stretch of water probably reaches quite far.” Ron harrumphed but argued no more on the matter.

   The paintings were very sparse here, so Sir William had shown them the way in, and told them the way out, but other than that they’d only seen him once, when he’d been waiting in surrealist painting on the top shelf in one of the alcoves. Harry supposed it was some sort of artefact, or evidence in some trail, but the bizarre, melted subject of the work seemed very happy to have guests, even if only for a few minutes.

   Since then, the two boys had been on their own, delving through the dungeons, calling out Sarah’s name quietly. So far they’d found absolutely nothing useful, and they were well over halfway through now. Harry was losing hope. He kept telling himself that Sirius and the others were just as likely to find her, but he’d insisted on holding onto her wand because he’d just assumed they’d be the ones to track her down.

   “So this Alex guy,” said Ron, forgetting once again to keep his voice down and breaking Harry’s line of thought. “Was he sort of an angel?”

   As they’d been searching, the boys had filled each other in on what had been going on. Harry had heard all about the empty file with ‘Dimensional Hotspots’ written on it, and in turn he’d told Ron about his visit to Alex’s house in the stars.

   Harry pulled a face as he looked around an alcove filled solely with cuddly toys. “No,” he replied, quickly satisfying the question as to whether or not Sarah was hiding there. “I don’t think so. He called himself a Watcher.”

   “Whatever that means,” mumbled Ron as they fought their way back out again against the collection of teddy bears blocking the doorway. “I still don’t get how you can have a bit of You-Know-Who in you.”

   “Two bits, from two realities, that’s the problem. He needs the bit from Draco’s world to go back there.”

   Ron scoffed, and said “Draco” almost too low for Harry to hear. But he did. “Yeah?” he said. “What’s the matter with that?”

   “You,” said Ron, unabashed. “Calling him Draco like you’re best mates. His name is Malfoy, doesn’t matter where he’s from.”

   “Actually, it does,” said Harry crossly, wading on and forgetting to lower his own voice. “In case you’ve purposefully kept your eyes closed the whole day, he’s completely different to Malfoy.”

   Ron shrugged, stomping off into another alcove. “Sarah?” he called out.

   Harry followed on after him. “Hang on a minute,” he said, his forehead creasing. “Are you _jealous_ of him?”

   Ron wondered around the shelves that the bigger room held. “You never talked about it, what happened over there, last year. But ever since, it’s like you’re always cutting Malfoy slack, sticking up for him, giving him the benefit of the doubt.”

   Harry stopped walking. “I do not,” he said hotly. “I told you, Malfoy is nothing like-”

“Draco, yeah yeah,” interrupted Ron. “But it’s like you’re always waiting for him to spring out, and today he did. And it’s like…like you’re complete again.” Ron had done a circuit of the room, and had now stopped in front of Harry. “I’m just,” he sighed, and rubbed his hand through his red hair, making it stand up at all angles. “I’m just worried about your judgement when he’s around. I don’t think you can completely trust him.”

   Harry felt the anger rise in him, and he splashed out of the dungeon and onto the next one. Surely if Sarah was around she’d hear all their commotion, but he still continued with the manual search. “Because he’s a Malfoy, and Malfoys can never change, or be good people.”

   “I’m just saying-” argued Ron, but Harry didn’t want to hear it.

   “Weren’t you listening, when him and Sarah were talking about me in their world?”

   The question caught Ron off guard. “Err,” he said, confused.

   “They said I was a moron, that I was mean.”

   Now it was Ron’s turn to look cross. “No they didn’t.”

   “Yes they did,” countered Harry, scanning the room of sports equipment quickly then moving on. “So if they’ve got the idiot Harry Potter, who doesn’t even know how lucky he is to _have_ a family,” he added bitterly. “Why can’t they have the good Draco, who helps to defeat Voldemort like we do? Which, by the way, he did.”

   Ron threw up his hands. “Alright, I’m jealous.” Harry very quickly felt the anger fade as Ron crossed his arms and glared angrily into the water. “You disappeared,” he carried on. “We were worried sick, and it turned out you went to this amazing place where all your dreams came true, where your family was alive, and I was _dead,_ but that was okay because you had a new best friend. And since the moment you came back you’ve been trying to see that Draco in our Malfoy. Aren’t I enough for you!” He’d gone bright red. Harry felt quite startled at this sudden outburst.

   He felt he should point out this was not the place to have this discussion. Somewhere less wet might have been better, with less lunatics looking for them, and less sisters in trouble. But Ron was clearly upset, so he figured a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. He was almost certain Sarah wasn’t down here anyhow, otherwise she would have shown herself by now.

   “Ron,” he said reproachfully. “You and Hermione are my best friends, the best I could ever hope for. How do you think I felt when I heard you were dead there, that all your family were?”

   Ron shrugged, his gaze fixed on the water gurgling around their waists.

   “And Draco and I hated each other to begin with, just as much as we do here. But he proved himself, he saved my life twice. He’s brave and selfless. He’s not you, he could never be _you._ He’s just different. I never thought I’d get to see him, so yeah, I was pretty happy when he showed up this afternoon. But so much bad stuff has happened since then.” He reached out and took Ron by the shoulders. “And I’m so lucky to have _all_ my best friends by my side.”

   Ron managed a weak grin. “Okay,” he said thickly. He looked up sheepishly. “Sorry for being an idiot.”

   Harry punched his arm lightly. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

   Before he could even register what was happening, Harry’s legs went out from under him, as did Ron’s. They cried out as they hit the water, scrambling back to the surface to work out what was going on. “It’s going backwards!” cried out Ron, ecstatic. “She did it, Hermione fixed the spell!” Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him as he watched the water speeding back towards the stairwell, presumably churning back into the busted fountain along with the volumes of parchment and text books from the vaults.

   “Well that’s one less thing to worry about,” he said, grinning. “Come on, let’s check the rest of these dungeons.” The next several rooms were just as lacking in his younger sister as the others, but Harry wasn’t exactly surprised. If Sarah had checked their corridor at a glance, she might have assumed it to be a dead end. It was more likely she’d taken Sirius’ route, he just hoped they’d found her in time.

   He’d been pondering what Ron had said during their fruitless search. “I did tell you about the dream I had, didn’t I?” he said after a while, breaking the silence.

   “Hmm?” said Ron.

   “Last November,” said Harry. “Over there, I dozed off briefly, and it was like you just walked in and sat down. It was so real. We had a chat in the forest about what was happening, and you cheered me up. So, you know, I must have really been missing you.”

   He’d forgotten all about the dream until Alex had reminded him a few hours ago, but he was glad he was able to share it with Ron now. He’d expected this little story to cheer him up further, but he just stared at him as if he’d gone insane. “Chat in a forest?” he repeated.

   “Yeah,” replied Harry, not sure what his point was.

   “And Malfoy, I mean Draco, was sat there too. And Hermione was by you, and Seamus and Parvati were across the way. And this random dude showed up, with a pocket watch?”

   “Oh, yeah,” said Harry a little flatly. “I must have told you after all. It was just before the those feral witches attacked us.”

   But Ron was shaking his head. “You never told me that, never. It’s just,” he frowned for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I think _I_ had that dream too, at the same time, whilst you were gone.”

   Harry peered at him. “What?”

   “I sat down,” said Ron. “And it was like I knew what was happening, about your parents, and Sarah, and Germany, and Malfoy. We had a little chat about it, then Hermione woke me up and I thought it was a weird stress dream, but then you came back and told us what happened, and it was like I _knew,_ like I’d guessed it in that dream.”

   Harry stared at him. “Are you telling me we had the same dream?

   Ron pulled a face. “Kinda sounds like it, doesn’t it?”

   But,” said Harry, reeling. “How is that possible?” Ron shrugged.

   “How should I know,” he said. “You’re the expert on alternate dimensions.”

   “He is quite correct Mr Potter,” said a new voice, and the two boys spun on their heels, wands raised. The voice’s owner was emerging from the next dungeon along, but Harry didn’t need to see him to recognise that smooth, snake-like quality. His heart pounded as panic gripped him. How had they been so careless, how could he have let this happen?

   Despite still being surrounded by a fair body of water, Harry’s mouth was as dry as a bone as Voldemort calmly stopped in front of them. He didn’t even have his wand out, such was his confidence.

   “And seeing as you are such an expert,” he continued as if they were old friends. “I was very much hoping we could all have a little discussion on the matter.”

 

***

 

   Sarah followed Sirius and Remus onto Level Eight, with Tonks protectively behind her. It had been hard work making their way down the stairwell against the water flying back up the steps, it seemed extremely eager to return to its fountain. But they’d made it, and not seen a single unfriendly face along the way, which made a nice change.

   Level Eight had a short corridor, with a couple of doors along the sides, only one of which was open. Sarah glanced in at an outrageously messy office, but her attention was quickly drawn to the gates of the Ministry’s Menagerie at the end of the corridor. Beyond the wrought iron looked to be an actual jungle, the path quickly winding out of sight as the trees and plants were so dominant. A Niffler had been frozen, just like all the people were, and looked as if it was in the middle of prodding at something when it had. Sarah also spied a group of unmoving pixies hiding in a bush.

   “How do we get in?” asked Sarah as the party reached the entrance. Sirius narrowed his eyes.

   “I’ll try some of the basics.”

   A quick _Alohomora_ was all that was needed though, and the gate swung open without so much as a squeak. Sarah looked back over at Roberta Charlton, hovering in the last painting before the walls became covered in lichen rather than artwork.

   “Good luck,” said the former sports official. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

   “Thanks,” muttered Sarah, not feeling quite so brave now her crazy plan was being put into action. “I think we’re going to need it.”

   “Nonsense,” said Roberta kindly, clenching her fist supportively. “I have every confidence in you, just ruddy well keep your eye on the ball.” Sarah nodded, then followed the adults into the animal sanctuary, the gates swinging silently shut behind her.

   “How big is this place?” muttered Tonks, her wand up and her eyes scanning the foliage warily. “And what exactly lives here?”

   “Um,” said Remus also looking about. “Pretty huge, and everything I think. It’s sort of a Noah’s ark, with lots of different habitats. I read once they’re separated by invisible barriers, so in theory we can pass through but the animals stay where they’re supposed to.”

   “Wonderful,” Tonks replied. “I guess we just listen out for any buzzing, and head that way then?”

   “Hmm,” said Remus. “And maybe movement, it looks like the Wranglers have frozen everything else in here. I guess it’s all energy for their binding spells.”

   “Animal battery, human battery, what’s the difference,” murmured Sarah, more to herself than anyone else. She had in her hand the wand Tonks had given her from one of the Death Eaters. Sirius insisted Sarah not be allowed to take part in their mission (even though it had been her idea in the first place) unless she could defend herself properly. But she wasn’t feeling very confident with this strange wand, and hadn’t even got a chance to try it out yet.

   It wasn’t long before the buzzing started. As the terrain became more rocky and less luscious Sarah and the others began spotting the odd Wrangler or two, but managed to either hide in time or stun them before any harm could be done. It was becoming increasingly difficult though, and the group decided to hide under some huge banana leaves to discuss their strategy before they went any further.

   “We can’t just walk up to the queen,” insisted Tonks, nursing her split lip again. It had been healed for almost an hour but she kept rubbing it still. “She be surrounded by all her drones.”

   “Maybe we could lure the drones away?” suggested Remus.

   “The point is mute,” argues Sirius. “How do we kill the thing once we get to it? We don’t even know how big it is?

   Sarah watched as Remus rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are not,” he said patiently “going to kill the queen.”

   Sirius looked genuinely confused. “Why not?” he said, somewhat peeved. Sarah peeked out through the banana leaves. The humidity was still stifling even though they were leaving the tropical environment for something a lot sparser. It seemed the climates overlapped.

   “Because,” sighed Remus. “It’s just an animal, it’s not doing this with malicious intent, it’s just its nature.”

   “Well it’s my nature to stay alive,” Sirius argued back. “And if it’s between my nature and hers, I’m not going down without a fight.”

   Sarah spotted something between the leaves. “Uh guys?”

   “Do you have to be such a child?” demanded Remus.

   “Boys keep it down,” insisted Tonks.

   “Guys?” hissed Sarah.

   “If it’s going to kill us, I’m not going to hop aside and say, ‘Oh yes Mrs Giant Bug, gobble me up and feed me to your spawn because it’s your _nature’.”_

   Remus huffed. “This is ridiculous, we’re not going to hurt it, it’s just like a lion, or a shark-”

   “Or a hoard of waspy offspring?” suggested Sarah.

   “Yes,” agreed Remus, pointing at her. “Hang on what?”

   Sarah, very quietly, pointed to the banana leaf she had let drop again. “Hoard,” she said in little more than a breath. “Of waspy. Offspring.”

   Sirius looked a little sick. Tonks leant forward and peered between a gap in the large leaves. “Yeah,” she whispered, gently pulling back again. “There’s a serious amount of insects out there crawling about.”

   Sarah didn’t have to look again to feel sick. The way all their legs moved, their expressionless, beady eyes, those mouths that looked like they were clawing the air for food. She couldn’t shake the feeling of them getting stuck in her hair, despite the fact they were technically big enough to chew her whole head off. A bug was still a bug, and bugs got stuck in your hair. She shuddered.

   “We’re trapped,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

   “No,” said Remus shaking his head, his voice barely audible. “No we just need to distract them, create a diversion.”

   “How smart are these things?” asked Tonks.

   Sarah realised she was talking to her, but all she could do was hold her hands up. “Not really sure,” she whispered. “Hermione didn’t exactly give us a break down of their IQ.”

   “Hive mind,” Tonks muttered, shaking her head. “Drones, soldiers.” She gritted her teeth, then put the tip of her wand up to the tiny gap in the leaves. _“Expecto Patronum,”_ she hissed.

   A bright blue light made the banana leaves almost transparent, and instantly there was a flurry of activity. Some of the leaves blew aside, just in time for Sarah to see a fierce silvery wolf sprinting away, all of the Wranglers in hot pursuit.

   “Was that your Patronus?” asked Sarah in awe as they climbed out from behind the foliage into the now empty pathway.

   Tonks scanned the area as Sirius poked other plant life, making sure there were no bugs left behind. “Nice work kid,” he said, and Tonks rolled her eyes.

   “There’s bound to be more,” said Remus. “Let’s get moving.”

   Sarah clung to her Godfather’s side as they hastened through the greenery, fantasizing what her own wolf Patronus would look like. She wondered if there would be a way to give it red eyes.

   They wound their way through more and more boulders, which held the advantage of being far sturdier to duck behind than banana leaves when any Wranglers attacked them. They stunned several more pairs along the twisty path they were following, until they reached an outcrop.

   On Remus’ nod, they dropped down and crawled on their bellies along the dusty floor, then peered out over a small basin, absolutely covered in Wranglers clambering over each other in a sea of giant insects. Sarah clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. Throwing up over the ledge might just give their position away.

   In the very centre of the bowl-like clearing stood a Wrangler that dwarfed all the others. She was magnificent, in a terrible sort of way, standing on her six legs with an additional pair outstretched like hands in front of her. Her wings were huge and wafting slowly back and forth, glimmering in so many different colours they looked like spray from the base of a waterfall, catching the sunlight and refracting it like a diamond.

   The regular sized beasts were scrambling around her legs, and she looked like she was watching them with interest. Her massive eyes were entirely black though, so she could have been looking anywhere for all Sarah knew. A chill ran down her spine.

   “Okay,” said Sirius so quietly she had to lean in to hear. “There’s the queen.” He raised his eyebrows. “How do you wanna kill it?”

   Remus was surprisingly dumbstruck on the matter. “That is _big_ isn’t it?”

   “Surely we could just stun her from here?” suggested Tonks.

   “And cheese off all her minions while we’re lying here helpless?” Sirius shook his head. “We need an exit strategy.”

   “Or at least a good place to hide,” added Tonks, looking awkwardly about from their position on the floor.

Remus frowned. “We don’t know what incapacitating their queen will do to the drones,” he said. “It could send them crazy, or they could all fall asleep.”

   “I’m afraid I missed my entomology class this morning,” grumbled Sirius. “On account of having the crap beaten out of me by my cousin. How about we just try and separate her from the others, then catch her in a big net?”

   “Agreed,” said Sarah. Sitting around doing nothing was making her nerves jangle.

   “Okay,” said Remus, breathing out. “Let’s try and get behind her at least, there might actually be somewhere we can hide and just blast her, maybe put up a protection spell to stop all the little ones getting to us afterwards.”

   Sarah nodded. “Cool,” she said, and rolled away from the edge.

   The basin was surrounded by plenty of jagged rocks and densely planted spindly trees that looked in desperate need of water, but all in all it offered pretty good cover for the four of them as they edged around the clearing. They were about a quarter of the way around when they came across a little alcove facing away from the basin, just big enough for maybe three of them to squeeze in.

   Remus looked around, considering. “This looks like a pretty good place to man an assault,” he whispered, checking there were no bugs nearby to hear or see them. “We can try stunning the queen, then take cover.”

   “We won’t all fit,” pointed out Sirius.

   “We could always make a larger bubble of protection charm,” suggested Tonks. “So it was just around the cave.” But Remus was shaking his head.

   “It will be much stronger if we do it straight across the entrance, even more if we leave a lip so we’re properly insulated.” He looked up and down, then settled his gaze on Sarah. She shifted uncomfortably.

   “Sarah,” he said firmly. “I want you to find another place to hide, further away. If anything goes wrong they’ll attack us and I don’t want to risk your safety.”

   Sarah felt something boil inside her. “I’m not _hiding,”_ she hissed. “I’m not a little child, I can take care of myself!”

   “Which is why,” Sirius said calmly. “We can trust you to go alone. Remus is right, this could go horribly wrong, and if you’re not with us, not only will you be safer, but you’ll be able to run for help.”

   “From who?” spat out Sarah, who did not want to be treated like a child, and certainly did not want to be abandoned again.

   “Harry and Ron are still out looking for you,” said Sirius, placing his hands on her shoulders. “The painting can lead you to them. And Hermione went with Draco to stop the water at the fountain, and we know they succeeded. They might just be waiting there for you.”

   Sarah could feel her lip pouting, but that was better than letting the tears that were threatening to spill actually escape her eyes. She crossed her arms and looked away from them.

   “Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll go find somewhere to hide like a good little girl.”

   Sirius pulled her into a hug, and when he released her, she stormed off without another word.

   “Stupid,” she grumbled to herself. “Idiots.” She kicked a stone in frustration, then instantly froze, her entire body tensed to run. After about a minute she allowed herself to breathe again, then cursed herself for being so careless. What if the Wranglers had heard her? She might have ruined everything.

   She still felt extremely cross as she searched for a place to take cover, another cave type opening, or a large bush perhaps. At least she could be useful by utilising her hide and seek skills.

   It took her a moment to realise that she had been staring at a patch in the rock face, and then a further moment to realise why. It had a door cut into the stone. Sarah looked about, conscious Sirius and the others might begin their attack at any moment. Why would there be a door in a wall of rock? To be fair it didn’t have any noticeable handle, but the size of it was definitely door-like in nature. She pushed at it, but it didn’t budge, so she fished out her borrowed wand and pressed it to where she felt the handle should have been.

   _“Alohomora,”_ she said, and the door swung inwards. She couldn’t help but smile at her serendipitous hiding place, then cast a Lumos spell so she could see where she was. It was a store cupboard, filled with medical equipment, reference books, cleaning products, food pellets, and rather unexpectedly, a broomstick.

   Sarah’s hand flew to the broom without hesitation; a Cleansweep Four, pretty old, but it still felt like it had some fire left in it. She wondered why it would be in here? Maybe for maintenance work, or if a gnome got stuck up a tree, something like that she guessed.

The sudden, unmistakable hiss of magic brought her sharply back to reality. Forgetting entirely she was supposed to be taking cover, she darted back outside towards the basin edge.

   Even through the tree branches she could see that the other three were firing stunning spells at the queen Wrangler. And they were having absolutely no effect. Sarah watched, heart in her mouth, as the queen stared curiously at them, then with some soundless command her hordes of drones rose from around her feet, and shot straight towards the little cave.

   Sarah couldn’t help but gasp as Sirius, Remus and Tonks cried out, ducking back into their makeshift shelter. The insects’ were making a furious buzzing sound as they threw themselves at the barrier, and dozens of them started spitting out gobfuls of black, oily goo from their mouths, that smacked sickeningly onto the rocky surface, dissolving within seconds. Sarah guessed that was how they paralysed their victims, and made a mental note to steer well clear of it.

   She was almost behind the queen now, and could see how little the attack had perturbed the massive wasp. She was still crouched down, content that her children were fighting off the intrusion. And behind her, like a field of marbles nestled in the freshly dug earth, were row upon row of eggs. They would have been about a foot tall, and had a dirty green look to their shells. Even as she watched, a new egg dropped from underneath the mother bug, but it smashed on the floor, spilling out a bucketful of slimy goo and what Sarah assumed was a half grown Wrangler.

   The queen knew the egg had smashed as soon as it hit the ground, and began making a scratchy wailing sound, clumsily trying to turn her enormous form around to see what had happened. Sarah thought maybe there was supposed to be another Wrangler there to catch it, and maybe another to settle it in the soil, but they were too busy trying to break down Remus’ protection spell. The queen tried to pick up what remained of her baby, but her hands were more like pincers and she just succeeded in smearing the gunge around. She tilted her head back and howled that raspy noise again, deeply distressed.

   Sarah watched this as the smaller Wranglers continued their assault on where her friends were hiding. The cave was solid stone so was holding up pretty well, but how long could their protection charms last against to paralysing spit the bugs kept shooting at it, let alone their claws and teeth? She had to do something.

   If she could just get the queen away, or distract the drones, like Tonks had done. But Sarah couldn’t make a Patronus, and she felt her anger at her lack of magic skills rise again. She didn’t have time for that though, she just needed to think of something else.

   The queen was still fussing over the broken egg, nudging it with her snout. Sarah had to feel sorry for her really; Remus was right, she was just an animal following her instinct, and all she wanted to do was look after her children.

   An idea snuck into Sarah’s brain, and right away her whole body flurried with goosebumps. Of course, there was a completely obvious way to distract the queen, but to what end? Sarah could maybe lure her away, but would the drones all follow? And how could Sarah hope to immobilise the queen even if she did get her alone. The adults’ stunning spells hadn’t worked and there wasn’t anything else Sarah could think of to do.

   At that moment there was an eruption of Wranglers as something blasted them several feet away from the cave. Sarah jumped back instinctively as Remus dove out, shouting out spells in every direction. The protective barrier must have failed. Sirius and Tonks were right behind him, but it was Remus that took the brunt of the insets’ counter attack, and he just wasn’t fast enough and a glob of oily black goo got him slap bang in the middle of his chest.

   _“NO!”_ screamed Sarah without thinking. Sirius and Tonks backed up against the rocks again, blasting out fire and explosions and a multitude of spells in an attempt to keep the Wranglers back.

   Sarah took a step forwards, then realised she had something in her hand; it was the Cleansweep. Sirius spotted her as he frantically assessed his surroundings. “Sarah get _out_ of here!” he bellowed.

   Sarah looked down at the broomstick, then made up her mind.

   Without really knowing what she was doing, she threw her leg over the broom and kicked off the ground, soaring into the air.

   She couldn’t help it, she laughed. She was flying, she was good at this, very good at this, and for the first time since she’d landed in this messed up world she felt in control of it. No one noticed her assent, not Sirius or the queen or any of the drones, and for a moment Sarah just hovered, taking in one breath after another. Then she dived straight for the patch of eggs, picking one at random. She pulled the broom up just before she reached the ground, and reached her arm out to scoop the egg from the dirt.

   The second she touched it, the queen’s head snapped round. The two stared at each other for a moment that stretched on for far longer than it really did. On the one hand, Sarah was very pleased her little plan had worked; she was right, all the queen cared about was her eggs. On the other hand, she now had the full attention of a terrifying monster.

   “You want this?” she bellowed, holding the egg up in a shaky hand for the queen to see. “Come and get it!”

   She tore off into the sky again, and the queen roared, twenty times louder than when the egg had broken on the ground. Sarah looked over her shoulder to see the great beast scrambling around on her many legs, tripping over herself in her haste to catch up with the little girl on the broom with one of her babies. Sarah had no intention of hurting the unborn Wrangler; she agreed with Remus, it wasn’t the creature’s fault they were enemies. But the queen didn’t need to know that.

   The beast flapped her beautiful wings exhaustingly, obviously out of practice using them, but eventually she managed to rise out of the stony basin, still screeching and writhing around in fury as she became airborne. Sarah was just about to hightail it when she spotted there was definitely something wrong with the other drones, and it stopped her.

   Sirius and Tonks were looking round confused as their attackers ceased to attack. Instead, they were now drifting, stumbling away, tumbling over each other, flying off in odd, shaky lines. If Sarah didn’t know any better, she would have sworn they’d all become very drunk, very quickly.

   She didn’t have long to ponder it though, the queen was up in the air and gaining speed fast. Sarah just had to hope she was faster. She fled as quickly as the old broom would take her, flying into the foliage, using the trees for cover as she zoomed this way and that, doing her best to confuse the overgrown insect. The queen screamed out and pulled at the branches, swatting them away in search of her egg, but Sarah just kept on flying.

   What felt like plaster and brickwork suddenly rained down on Sarah’s head, causing her to swerve on instinct. As she shook the debris from her head she risked looking upwards to see what the queen was doing. She didn’t have to wait long to find out; the queen was so cumbersome and obviously not used navigating in a small space. She kept flying upwards into what looked like the late night sky, but what was in fact the ceiling enchanted to look like the sky, just like at Hogwarts. As she bashed into it again she snarled a noise like a chainsaw being started up, and dove back down to the top of the tree line to search for Sarah again as more of the roof crashed down on them both.

Sarah zigzagged around the bits of brickwork and around several trees. The landscape was changing again, leaving the tropical jungle behind in exchange for a pine forest damp with the smell of earth.

   Just as Sarah whipped past a frozen herd of Chimera, a small Wrangler darted past her, making her scream out in shock. After seeing their behaviour at the basin she’d assumed they’d all been incapacitated, but apparently some of them had been able to keep it together. The bug quickly corrected its course to come chasing after her, and it wasn’t long before half a dozen others joined it. Sarah gulped and clung onto the broom, fleecing it for all it was worth.

   The queen swiped down blindly with her claws and her drones spat goo in an attempt to slow Sarah down. Before they fired, the drones thankfully gave off a tell-tale whistling noise that alerted Sarah just in time, but they’d caught the end of her broom twice now. If they got any closer it was game over.

   _“SARAH!”_ the unmistakable voice of Sirius Black rang out, startling the Wranglers and giving Sarah a fair fright herself. He must have magically enhanced the volume of his words as they were a considerable distance from the basin now. _“LEAD IT BACK HERE!”_

   Sarah’s heart was thumping so hard she could barely concentrate, and she panicked thinking she wasn’t sure how to find her way back. But that was before she heard the fireworks. Spinning her broom around on a hairpin she saw the bright red sparks that accompanied the whizzing and popping noises, and looped around the startled Wranglers to go find the source.

   The queen took a minute or so to realise the girl with her egg had switched directions, so Sarah only had to contend with the drones as she hurtled back towards the basin. “I’m coming!” she yelled as loud as she could, almost certain Sirius couldn’t hear her yet, but she kept on yelling anyway.

   “I’m coming Sirius,” she cried, holding tightly onto the egg. “I’m almost there!”

   She flew through the jungle as the little bugs spat at her and grabbed for the end of her broom. She’d managed to lose a few along the way, but the couple that remained seemed as determined as ever to bring her down.

   “Over here!” yelled Tonks faintly through the trees, and Sarah adjusted her course, leaning into the broom to get every ounce of speed out of it as the queen bared down on top of her again and the few straggling drones reached for her heals.

   She broke back into the rocky clearing which was now littered with stumbling, disorientated Wranglers. “HERE!” hollered Tonks, standing ten feet or so away from the cave and waving her arms frantically. Sarah wasn’t sure what the plan was, but she hurtled past the frozen Remus Lupin towards the pink-haired woman without looking back.

   Another Wrangler spat at her, and Sarah lurched to her right to avoid it. She overcompensated though for fear of dropping the egg, and she spun right into the ground, rolling head over heels and losing the broomstick. Tonks ran at her, screaming profanities at the creatures, but just as they and their queen closed in on them, Sirius emerged from the little cave, wand in hand.

   _“SPINNERETIOUS!”_ he bellowed, white string exploding from his wand. No, not string Sarah realised, clutching onto the green egg as the spell blossomed over her head. Cobweb.

   The Wranglers and their queen screeched out in horror as they were an able to stop themselves ploughing into the webbing that now stretched from the floor up the rocky side of the basin. But as soon as they touched the sticky substance, they were stuck fast. Tonks skidded to the ground and flung a dome of protection around her and Sarah just as the furious Wranglers began spitting goo through the gaps. “Sirius!” she hollered. “Now would be a good time!”

   A hot, bright light filled the clearing, and Sarah snapped her eyes shut against it, curling into Tonks. But the protection spell did what it was supposed to do, and the two girls were unharmed by whatever Sirius had just done. The Wranglers, on the other hand, were now fast asleep.

   _“Woohoo!”_ screamed Sirius as Tonks leapt to her feet.

   “Stay there,” she commanded at Sarah as she sprinted off back to the cave. For once she was content to do as she was told. She looked up at the insects now happily snoring in the giant web. They looked quite peaceful when they weren’t trying to kill her.

The Wranglers not caught in the cobweb suddenly sobered up, then began buzzing gently around the clearing, flitting off in all directions absentmindedly as if they’d just remembered they’d left the oven on. A pixie suddenly flew up in front of Sarah’s face, hands on its little hips. “What are you doing here?” it demanded in a very high pitched voice.

   Sarah laughed. It was more of a bark really, right at the pixie, who jumped back, then huffed scornfully before flying away again. Sarah laughed again, the peels escaping almost hysterically as she gently let the egg she was still clutching roll to the ground.

   “Sarah!” Sirius cried as he sprinted under the webbing and over to where she sat. “Sarah are you okay?”

   “I’m fine!” she yelled back. “Did we do it?”

   Sirius actually picked her off her feet as he howled in delight. _“You_ did it you little monkey!” he said, spinning her around. He didn’t put her down when he was done, instead hoisting her onto his hip to carry her back to the others like a small child. Again, Sarah found she didn’t mind. “Remus got zapped, but I think he’s alright now.”

   Tonks was hugging him as the two turned to wave happily. Another Wrangler bumbled on by, totally oblivious to their presence.

   “Once you made the queen mad enough to follow you, it’s like the others couldn’t function anymore,” Sirius carried on, chuffed to bits. “So we worked out what spell to use, then you pretty much did the rest.” He mussed up her hair and pinched her cheek, and Sarah felt a hot sensation rising through her face. She was grinning so much it hurt. She’d done it, she’d really done it.

   Sirius hugged her even tighter, wrapping his arm around her head, and she happily buried her face in his neck. “You dad would have been so proud,” he said thickly.

   Sarah smiled as tears of relief rolled down her face. “I’ll tell him you said that,” she told him.

 

***

 

   Harry couldn’t breathe. Fear was gripping at his throat like cold hands squeezing the life out of him, his fingers were clenched so tightly around his wand the circulation was failing. Voldemort smiled. Ron made a noise that could have been a whimper or a gag. Harry didn’t blame him for either.

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said eventually.

   Voldemort creased his forehead; Harry suspected if he’d had eyebrows on that ghastly snake face of his, they would now be raised. “Really,” he said pleasantly. “You don’t know anything at all about parallel universes, alternate realities?”

   Harry licked his lips. “Why would I?”

   “Yeah,” said Ron, sloshing forward a step against the returning waters, holding his wand up bravely. “You’re the ones who emptied the file on Dimensional Hotspots.”

   Harry couldn’t help but let his head drop a little in defeat. Good old Ron, always putting his foot in it. But Voldemort didn’t seem surprised that he knew about the Hotspots, he just smiled again.

   “Why yes we did,” he agreed. “But there wasn’t really much in that file my Seers hadn’t told me already, but Harry here...” He extended his hand gracefully. “Well Harry here has been to another reality, haven’t you?”

   Harry swallowed, trying to keep his face blank. “That’s absurd,” he said, letting a small laugh escape. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

   “So,” said Voldemort tilting his head. “You didn’t visit a parallel world last November? Hm?” He shrugged his shoulders as if what he was saying was only mildly interesting. “I wonder in that case what you were doing those few days you were missing? Perhaps your friend here knows.”

He gave Ron an easy smile, then flicked his wand and send him crashing to the floor, holding him under the rushing waters.

   “Stop!” yelled Harry frantic, dropping to his knees to try and pull Ron up. “Stop it you’ll kill him!”

   Voldemort held his gaze for a moment. “I have no wish to,” he said softly.

   Harry pulled at Ron again as he thrashed under the currents, but he wasn’t going anywhere. “Okay,” said Harry. “Okay, OKAY! I went to another universe, let him go, please!”

   Instantly, Ron sprung back up to the surface, coughing up water and gasping for air.

   “There,” said Voldemort. “That wasn’t so bad was it?” Ron tried to say something in response but just ended up choking again. Harry waked him on the back and glared at Voldemort.

   “What do you want to know?” he demanded. “I sent myself there by accident, and then my friends in this world brought me back. That’s it.”

   Voldemort chuckled softly. “Yes,” he said genially. “I’m sure that is it, in its entirety. But why don’t you join me for a little further discussion anyway? Satisfy my curiosity?”

   Harry ground his teeth. “Fine,” he snapped. “But Ron stays here, this is between you and me.”

   “Oh,” said Voldemort reproachfully. “But you’re so much more cooperative when your friends are around. I think he should stick with us.”

   Harry opened his mouth, but he realised they were no longer standing in the Ministry’s archives. He and Ron stumbled as the pressure from the charging waters was suddenly removed, and he looked around at all the Death Eaters staring at him from around Courtroom Ten. His stomach sank. There were right back in the snake pit.

   At least it was just them, he consoled himself as he helped Ron to stand. At least the others had got away.

   “You see,” said Voldemort, strolling around as a handful of Death Eaters lunged forward to take the boys’ wands and restrain them. “I’ve been a little busy, peering into the future with my very talented Seers. They are so useful to have around, don’t you find?”

   Harry just glowered, but Voldemort took that as enough of a response.

   “They’ve come across a wonderful little prophecy which to begin with I was certain was about you and I.”

   He looked as if he was going to carry on, but at that moment two figures were thrown through the watery barrier at the entrance to the courtroom. Harry didn’t think his heart could sink further, but it did. Hermione and Draco lay panting and bound on the floor as Lucius strode through the waters, which were already lowered to just below the door frame. He dried himself with the flick of a wand, but left his son and Hermione to drip.

   The blonde woman who Harry now knew to be Draco’s mother Narcissa cried out but stayed stood where she was, near the back of the room. No one held her there, but Harry had the feeling there would be several people ready to stop her if she tried to get in Lucius’, or more importantly Lord Voldemort’s, way.

   “Ah!” said Voldemort. “Excellent work Lucius.”

   “Thank you my Lord,” he said stiffly. He looked especially irked, and his eyes kept flicking towards his son. Harry’s insides squirmed uneasily.

   “I was just telling young Potter here about the prophecy,” then he laughed, as if someone had delivered a punch line. “I do apologise,” he said, addressing his followers before looking once again to Harry. “I mean of course Potter, the elder. You are not the youngest of your family anymore.”

   Harry pulled against the men restraining him but they didn’t budge. “If you’re talking about the prophecy,” he growled instead. “That says I’m the heir of Gryffindor, and you the heir of Slytherin, then I’m way ahead of you, it’s old news.”

   Voldemort stared at Harry, and he quickly wished he’d kept his mouth shut. It obviously wasn’t the same prophecy. “Well,” said the Dark Lord. “Well, well. That is interesting. I take it you learnt that on you little trip last year.” Harry said nothing, but Voldemort looked pleased anyway.

   “Trixy?” he called out. “Would you be so kind?”

   One of the robed figures stepped out of the crowd, and lowered her hood once she reached the central well. She was a spindly, willowy girl, who could have been any age between fifteen and forty, Harry just couldn’t tell. Her blonde, wavy hair was thin and hung limply beside her long, vacant face. She was staring into the middle distance, as if she couldn’t see a single other person in the room.

   _“He who misplaces himself,”_ she began reciting in a trembling voice. _“Shall hold the key, and he shall bring light and power and control to all he sees, all he can imagine. And with great force and acumen he will be the instrument of unity, and the king of all will rule.”_

Once she was done she lifted her hood once again, then melted back into the throng.

   “Ah,” said Harry. “That’s not the one I heard.”

   “But you see the problem don’t you?” asked Voldemort, as if he were teaching a class at Hogwarts. “When my visionaries relayed this prophecy, and we confirmed with the Ministry’s prophecy catalogue that it had come into effect now, this very day, I assumed it had to be you. You were the one who travelled across the boundaries of the worlds last year. But you…you’re still you, aren’t you? You haven’t swapped, this is your world.” He folded his hands together. “Your sister on the other hand-”

   “How did you know that?” snapped Draco, struggling to sit upright. “How did you know Harry crossed over last year.”

   “Be _quiet,”_ hissed Lucius, aiming a kick at him and earning another whine from Narcissa, but Voldemort held up his hand.

   “I know a great deal Master Malfoy,” he said, looking at the boy curiously. Harry begged Draco to shut up before Voldemort tortured him and Hermione like he’d already done to Ron. “But your question goes someway to confirming it further for me. How, may I ask, do you know Potter left this reality for another?”

   “Because that’s where this boy is from,” spat Lucius, and Harry’s insides turned to ice. He stopped struggling against the Death Eaters holding him.

   “No,” he breathed.

   “Lucius?” asked Voldemort.

   “The girl may be from the second reality,” explained Lucius, his voice full of malice. “But so is this Draco. He is not my son.”

   The room went very still. Voldemort regarded Draco with new and delighted interest, whilst Draco glared back, chin in the air. Hermione turned her head between the two of them, horror clear on her face. Harry guessed she was thinking the same as him; Voldemort didn’t want Harry like he said, but he didn’t want Sarah either, she’d been a last resort. The prophecy was about _Draco._

_“_ W-what?” said Narcissa, taking a step forward, but no one paid her any attention. Voldemort was drifting towards Draco, oblivious to all else.

   “‘He who misplaces himself’”, he quoted again, his wicked mouth curling into a real grin. “My, my. What a turn of events.”

   “What do you want with him then!” lashed out Hermione, also awkwardly moving to lean on her knees.

   “Hermione-” began Draco, frightened, but Hermione ploughed on.

   “She said ‘the king of all will rule’, rule what?” Her eyes blazed and Harry felt Ron struggling against his captors. It seemed they’d learnt from last time though and already gagged him. He gave a good go at shouting something out anyway.

   “Hermione,” hissed Draco again, pleading. “Leave it, I can handle-”

   “He’s only been here half a day,” she shouted, cutting him off. “What do you want from him? He can’t make you be the king, he can’t _hand over_ whatever power he’s supposed to have, he just landed here. So how about you go find your own alternate reality to lord over and _leave him alone!”_

   Voldemort looked at Draco, then at Lucius, then at Hermione. _“Crucio,”_ he whispered.

   Hermione smacked into the ground, flailing and screaming in agony. _“NO!”_ screamed back the joint voice of Harry, Draco and a muffled up Ron. Hermione continued to writhe, and Voldemort turned to Draco.

   “Will you talk to me now?”

   “I never said I wouldn’t!” cried Draco, scrambling forward on his knees, his hands still behind his back. “I don’t care, let her go, I’ll tell you everything!”

   Voldemort seemed to consider this, then abruptly Hermione stopped screaming. She crumpled where she lay on the ground, legs curling into her body as she shook and air shuddered in and out of her lungs. “Draco,” she uttered, her voice cracking. “Don’t…tell him anything.”

   Voldemort laughed, good and hearty, before flinging Hermione across the room, smacking her against the wooden railings then letting her fall to the floor, unmoving.

   “Hermione!” cried Draco, and Harry strained against the hands on his arms, but they yanked him back without pause. Voldemort lurched forward and seized Draco by the jaw. Harry saw Narcissa scuttle forward another couple of steps.

   “How does it work?”

   Even from across the room Harry saw Draco’s eyes widen. “I…” he stammered. “I don’t…” Voldemort slowly raised his wand, pointing it at Hermione.

   “The History of Magic classroom!” yelled out Harry. There was a painful moment where Voldemort’s arm just hovered, until finally he turned.

   “Ah, Mr Potter,” he said happily. “What was that?”

   “I sent myself through a Dimensional Hotspot by accident, in the old History of Magic classroom,” he said, breathing hard. Every pair of eyes in the room was on him. Except for one.

   “I was angry, I was casting spells and wrecking the room, I only had one thought in my head.”

   “Which was?” asked Voldemort, gliding away from Draco and towards Harry. Good, Harry thought, that’s it forget about them, come to me.

   “I,” he said, a lump in his throat. “I was wishing, begging, praying with all I had…that Sirius had remained my parents’ Secret Keeper rather than hand the job over to Wormtail.” Pettigrew flinched from his position near the back of the room. He never was one to be on the front line.

   “Ah,” said Voldemort sadly. “But without Wormtail’s loyal service, I never would have found you at Hallowe’en, all those years ago.”

   Harry really yanked against the hands holding him, so much so they even slipped a bit. “You son of a-”

   “So am I to assume,” Voldemort carried on, waltzing around the room like a lecturer again. “That because you wished it _so_ hard, right by the portal, with all that magic in the air…you propelled yourself there. Of your own sheer will?”

   It was Harry’s turn to glare. “I guess so,” he said through clenched teeth.

   Voldemort’s eyes lazily roamed over Harry’s features. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, be careful what you wish for?”

   And then it was Harry’s turn to laugh. Hard. Ron stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “And obviously your Seers never told you what happened over there, did they? Because I destroyed you, _again!”_

Voldemort stiffened, and Harry knew he was right. “Yeah,” he goaded, “I toasted your sorry hide, gave that other Harry a nice lightning bolt scar, just like this one.”

   Voldemort flashed his wand, and Harry was on the floor, flung from his captor’s hands screaming unyieldingly as fire tore across his body. He wasn’t sorry though, even as the tears streamed down his face and he heard people wailing his name. He wasn’t sorry because he deserved this, he’d caused all this mess and seen far too many other people suffer for it. This was his pain to own.

   And then it was over, and he trembled on the floor, staring at the imperfections in the wooden boards. “Don’t…” he grunted. “You want to know. How I got back?”

   He couldn’t raise his eyes to see where Voldemort was or what he was doing, but after a moment he felt his robes swish not too far from his face.

   “Explain,” he said.

   “Dumbledore,” Harry groaned, his face mashed into the floor for the second time that night. “Charmed a letter, sent it after me. Pulled me back.”

   He felt Voldemort’s steps thump towards him. “That’s it?” he cried. “You seriously expect me to believe you accidentally landed there, then someone else, _him,_ threw you a lifeline to get home!”

   Harry laughed. It wasn’t quite as impressive as his earlier effort. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

   He knew it was dangerous to taunt the most evil wizard that ever lived, but exhaustion was playing a considerable part in diminishing his reason, and as a result he was finding the whole thing vastly amusing.

Voldemort did not respond with torture again like Harry assumed he would. He just cleared his throat. “And how do you explain young Master Malfoy’s transformation, and the appearance of your sister?”

   “We were just sat there,” cried out Draco, and Harry winced. He wanted to talk, he wanted all the attention on him. But he didn’t have the exact answers, and Draco had a little more than that so he pressed on while Harry dithered.

   “Shut up,” Harry whispered, but no one heard, least of all Draco.

   “We were just in the classroom, the same one Harry said,” Draco shouted, pulling Voldemort further away from Harry. “Then a lightning storm blew up in an instant, the window shattered, and we were here.” Harry shifted his head, and could see Draco was sat up on his knees, his hair plastered to his head, his face set.

   “I went where I was needed,” Draco said, resolute. “Harry came to my world because he knew how to defeat you, my Voldemort, and I,” his voice broke. “I…I came back to his world. Because I knew what it meant to have you people in my school. To… _let_ you people in my home, then to fight back, to give everything to try and make it right.”

   Voldemort turned to Lucius. “What kind of boy is it you have here?”

   Lucius stiffened as Narcissa crept forwards again. The only pair of eyes that had not flinched from her son, that didn’t even acknowledge her husband or her lord. She was at the front of the crowd now.

   “You sound fanatical,” said Voldemort to Draco, taking a turn about the room again. “You make it sound like destiny flung you where you were most desired.”

   “Yeah,” said Draco with a grin. “So how about you find yourself a world full of angry mobs and do us all a favour.” Harry wasn’t even shocked when Voldemort unleashed the Cruciatus Curse on his friend, but it didn’t stop him from crying out as Draco jerked in pain, screaming like something unhinged.

   “No!” cried Narcissa, flinging herself on her suffering boy. “No, no stop it!” The curse ended, and she cradled her son. “He’ll tell you my Lord, you don’t need to resort to such cruel methods!”

   “What my wife means,” said Lucius hastily stepping forward. “Is that the boy will cooperate, he would be a fool not to.”

   “I see,” panted Draco. “Only one fool here.” He was looking at Lucius. Harry decided to take the conversation back to himself.

   “We can’t tell you a spell to jump realities, if that’s what you want?” he said from the floor. He was still too weak to stand from the torture curse, but the guards hadn’t restrained him again either.

   Voldemort bared down on him. “What about the spell that pulled you home then?” he demanded. Harry rubbed his face in an attempt to bring some life back into it.

   “It only worked because I had already crossed over. There are only ways to bring people back, not send them over.”

   Voldemort smirked. “That you know of.”

   “Exactly,” agreed Harry. “So my suggestion would be to go to Hogwarts and get really mad in that classroom, and see what happens.”

   Voldemort sighed. “And this is all the information I’m to expect from you boys, little more than hearsay and guesses?”

   “Sorry,” said Draco, not sounding sorry at all. He was still resting against his mother’s embrace; Lucius did not look impressed with the situation.

   “Well then,” announced Voldemort, his tone cheerful once again. “Then I think your work is done here ladies and gentlemen. We have much we can progress with, I still hold every confidence we can bend this prophecy to my will, all is not lost.” He turned back to Draco and Narcissa. “All that remains are a few loose ends.”

   Narcissa stared at her Lord, and blinked. “What?” she stammered.

   “I alone,” growled Voldemort. “Shall rule. I alone shall see the realisation of this prophecy, and I will not risk anyone else standing in my way. Certainly not this boy.”

   Harry’s heart hammered; Voldemort was going to kill Draco. He glanced around desperately from the floor but he didn’t see any way he could stop it. Ron was still restrained and neither of them had their wands. Panic gripped him, and he mustered all his strength, preparing to leapt to his feet and fling himself between the two if he hand to.

   Draco just stared at the Dark Lord, his jaw still clenched, almost daring him to kill him.

   Lucius looked afraid. “My Lord,” he said, his voice shaking. “You are of course correct, this boy should not be allowed to remain. We can force him back to his own world, and our son, our loyal son, will return to us.”

   Voldemort didn’t even look at him, just pulled his wand from his robes. “And leave him free to cross back to us any time he pleases?” He made a tutting noise. “I thought you would know better Lucius, your son is already dead, I am doing you a favour.”

   “NO!” screeched Narcissa, jumping to her feet and putting herself firmly between Voldemort and Draco, just as Harry had planned to do. “No he is my _son!”_

“Sissy,” cried Lucius, trying to pull her back, but something erupted in this frail, cowering woman.

   _“NO!”_ she screamed, thrashing against her husband’s grip. _“NO DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!”_

   Several people jumped forward, some grabbed Narcissa, some Draco who had also started screaming, ordering them to let his mother go. No one grabbed Harry. He launched himself forward on unsteady legs, barrel rolling into Voldemort, knocking him off his feet.

   Spells flew, people shouted and yelled, Harry was blasted back, skidding across the floor as Voldemort rose to his feet again. He ignored Harry, and turned back to Draco.

   _“NO,”_ Narcissa howled again, clawing at the hands that held her.

   “ _MOTHER!”_ bellowed Draco,struggling uselessly against the Death Eaters, too weak from the Cruciatus Curse still to have any effect. Narcissa, though, was like a force of nature, elbowing and scratching her way free.

   “Don’t you TOUCH him! Don’t you dare, you’ll have to kill me first, _you’ll have to kill me!”_

   And then her wand was in her hand, her husband and the other Death Eaters blasted away, and she was running towards her son. Harry scrambled back up again, running in the same direction, but he wasn’t fast enough.

   _“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_ Voldemort screamed, and green light filled the room just as Narcissa leapt for her son. Harry stopped in his tracks, horror steeling all feeling from his body.

   “No,” he exhaled, tears filling up his eyes.

   The lifeless body of Narcissa Malfoy was strewn on the floor, and for a moment, the entire room was still.

   “No,” croaked Draco. “No, no, no, _NO!”_ Harry blinked himself awake, remembering his friend was still in danger, but he was too slow. A Death Eater crashed into him, pulling him to the ground as another one seized his feet.

   “GET OFF ME!” he bellowed, but no one heard him over Draco’s screams.

   _“Mother!”_ he howled, thrashing manically against the people holding him. They were losing their grip. “ _Mum! No, mum NO! PLEASE!”_ He smacked his head back into one captor and savagely kicked the knee of another. “Not again! _Not again! MUM!”_ He broke free, and tried to run to her, but Voldemort was waiting, watching, a predator watching his prey.

   “Goodbye Master Malfoy,” he said with a wicked grin.

   _“NO!”_ screamed Harry with all he had left.

   _“AVADA KEDAVRA!”_

   And the whole room feel down.

 

***

 

   Draco crouched on the stone window sill, the storm raging in the night’s sky behind him. The Great Hall of Hogwarts School was throbbing with students screaming and shoving each other, some sobbing, some waving wands. Some had blood matted in their hair, others ragged holes in their sides.

   A girl in the crowd’s centre saw him. Over the thundering din, all Draco heard was the soft ‘oh’ of recognition that escaped her lips. Everybody in the room stopped moving, stopped talking. Now there were all looking at him, and he watched them back, hunkered down like an animal, sizing up its prey.

   Seamus Finnigan stood behind the girl, the girl with wavy brown hair and kind brown eyes. “Hermione,” said Draco told himself, but nobody else heard. Seamus had his hands on her hips, and as Draco watched her swept her hair back and slowly kissed her neck.

   Hermione raised her hand and pointed at Draco. “It was him!” she screamed.

   Now it was the students who were the animals, the predators, and Draco was their prey. He jumped from the window sill, and ran as if through treacle out of the hall and down the corridor, bodiless hands groping at his clothes, pawing at his skin. The grand double doors stood open before him, beckoning him out into the night. In his way stood his father, who became his mother, then his father once again. As Draco charged at them, the formless figure blew away into smoke, releasing him into the raging storm.

   The rain vanished as soon as Draco reached the entranceway steps, but the wind howled, tearing at the trees, stripping them of their leaves. He ran along the wall of the school, until he found the rope he knew would be waiting for him. He climbed up, as if he weighed nothing, until he reached the broomstick perched on a ledge by a sad looking gargoyle.

   Draco’s fingers were reaching for the broom, when suddenly there was a tug on the rope tied to the middle of the broomstick, and it and Draco began to fall back to Earth. “Fly!” he told the broomstick, and so it did, even though Draco was still dangling below, hand wrapped around the rope. They soared over the dark grounds of Hogwarts School, but Draco knew they were not alone. The girl was hanging onto the rope below him, only she was no longer Hermione, but Blaise Zabini hiding behind a sheet of long brown hair.

   He wound his other hand around the rope to make it into reigns, spurring the broomstick on. Blaise was thrown from their ride, falling to the ground and smashing into a thousand pieces.

   They galloped on, and Draco found his legs astride a pitch black warhorse, flying down a railway bridge that stretched out of sight. They rode and rode, and after forever and a blink of an eye, the train line was running into a castle, surrounded by walled up medieval town.

Someone was behind him. He couldn’t see who it was, no matter how he twisted and turned, but he knew they were there. He knew it was a knight, in gleaming armour and billowing red and gold standards, driving forward a large white horse. But he never once caught a true glimpse of the rider.

   There were people waiting for him in the town centre. Sirius Black sat atop a horse even bigger than his own, and around him were countless other figures, their features hidden by brown cloaks with long overhanging hoods. Townspeople stood amongst them, their faces gaunt, their hands holding burning torches aloft.

   “You cannot go on forever,” Sirius called to him as Draco tried to calm his rearing horse.

   “Who says I can’t?” he replied, the heat from the torches flushing his cheeks.

   “I do.” Draco pulled the reigns to turn the horse, eager to see the voice who had spoken behind him.

   “Harry!” he said happily, jumping down from his ride to throw his arms around his friend. Harry Potter did not return the embrace. “Harry why can’t I keep running?” he asked, letting him go to look at his face. He looked so old.

   “Because it’s not you they want.”

   All of Draco’s skin was burning now, he could feel the heat emanating from it. “It is,” he insisted as Harry’s clothes caught fire. But the other boy shook his head.

   “It never is,” he said as his burst into flames, melting right through Draco’s fingertips.

 

***

 

   Draco awoke with a start. His breathing was heavy and his forehead was damp with sweat. He was on a metal cot bed, tangled in several blankets, in a shadowy room with wooden panels and beams, and a fire roaring in a stone mantelpiece that filled the whole wall. Several portraits on the wall in front of him were pointing and staring. A woman with chocolate brown ringlets curling from underneath a bonnet spotted he was awake. “Ooh look!” she said delightedly. “I think dear Ric, our visitor has regained his senses!”

“Then let’s not scare them away again Jane,” said a handsome man in an adjacent painting. He looked like a medieval knight, in red and gold livery, and something about the dream resonated at the back of Draco’s bleary mind.

   “Draco.” He snapped his head to the left, where a slimly built man he didn’t recognise was sitting on a sofa, his fingers interlaced, his pale face troubled.

   “Who are you?” Draco demanded, still feeling sick from the dream that was quickly fading from his memory. The man was extraordinarily good looking, with spikes of blonde highlighted hair and wearing scuffed up jeans, pirate boots and a t-shirt with a design so faded Draco couldn’t even make it out in the dim light.

   “A friend,” said the man with a sign. “Oh Draco, what _have_ you done?”

   Draco stared at him. “I don’t know,” he said. “Something bad?”

   “Oh no,” said the man, raising his eyebrows and leaning forwards. “Something wonderful, something exceptional.” He licked his lips, and leant back on the sofa with his hands behind his head. “Just...something unexpected.”

   There was a yapping noise, and something started tugging on one of Draco’s many ragged blankets from the floor. “What’s that?” he asked, leaning over to see a tiny white terrier puppy, a woollen tassel clamped between its jaws. It growled in a high pitched grunt every time it jerked at the blanket.

   “Ah!” said the man happily. “Don’t know, he’s new round here.” He leant forward and scooped the puppy easily up in one hand to plonk him on Draco’s bed. “I decided I was a bit lonely, wanted someone to talk to. He may not have a name yet, but he’s a very good listener.” The man ruffled the puppy’s soft, downy hair as it bounded over to Draco, who couldn’t help but pet him too as he jumped around and nipped his fingers. Draco laughed, then spotted a collar around his neck.

   “His name tag says he’s called Sir Woofsalot?”

   “Does it?” said the man, delighted, picking up the pup and taking a look at the silver disk. “So it does, well hello there Woofsy, have you made friends with Draco?”

   Draco was feeling dizzy from the heat of the flames to his right. “How do you know my name?” he said as his eyes dropped. “What did I do, who _are_ you?”

   The man sighed again, and rested Sir Woofsalot on the sofa beside him. “Don’t worry,” he said kindly as Draco felt the darkness rushing over him. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be seeing you again soon.”

 

***

 

   “Did he just bark?”

   Sarah looked over at Harry, mouth full of sandwich, her eyebrows raised as her hands holding her lunch hovered halfway between face and plate.

   “Huh?” she said thickly through bread and cheese.

   Harry frowned. “I thought,” he said, leaning closer to the metal cot bed where Draco was lying. “I thought he said ‘woof’.” He felt ridiculous even as he said it, but he could have sworn that’s what he’d heard.

   Sarah swallowed, placed the sandwich back on the plate then leant over the sleeping boy as well. “His eyes are moving under his lids,” she said, a smile creeping onto her face. “Maybe he’s waking up?”

   Harry picked up Draco’s wrist and felt the pulse beneath the skin. It seemed a bit faster. “His cheeks are pinker too.”

   Sarah picked up the plate and discarded it on the cabinet by Draco’s bed. They were the only ones in Hogwarts’ medical ward, even Madame Pomfrey had left them alone for a time, but Harry would prefer it if Draco were to wake up with just the Potters waiting for him. He was bound to have a lot of questions.

   “Come on,” he muttered as a light breeze came through the half open window. It was still warm outside despite the calendar’s protests Autumn had well and truly begun, and the watery October sunshine glinted off of the water jug by Sarah’s plate.

   “Uf,” said Draco.

   “There!” said Harry jumping to his feet and standing over Draco as he twitched in his sleep. Sarah grabbed his hand.

   “Draco,” she said, squeezing. “Draco can you hear me?”

   He twitched again.

   “Should we get Madame Pomfrey?” she asked, almost trembling with excitement.

   “No,” said Harry, shaking his head and sitting himself down again in the green plastic chair he’d set up camp in over the last couple of days. “Let’s just see what happens.”

   “No,” muttered Draco, and Harry’s insides twisted. He followed Sarah’s lead and took Draco’s other hand. It was clammy. “No,” he whimpered again, and Harry suddenly didn’t think he was prepared for what was about to happen.

   “Draco?” said Sarah, standing up to peer at his face and brush his damp hair back. “Draco it’s alright, we’re here.”

   He was wrestling with the sheets, his legs kicking as his face contorted. Then with a sudden gasp, his eyes were open, and he became still.

   “Draco?” said Sarah uncertainly as Harry took the hand he was already holding in both of his.

   “Draco?” he said.

   His grey eyes were wide, sweat was beading on his forehead and his chest rose and fell. “Am I dead?”

   “Oh Draco!” cried Sarah, flinging herself onto his chest. “We were so worried!”

   Draco dopily patted her back as she half laughed and half cried into the pyjamas Harry had lent him. “What happed?” he asked blearily. “What’s going on?”

   “You’re at Hogwarts,” Harry said, the shock of the relief still sending ripples through him. “You’re okay, you’ve been asleep.”

   Draco stared at him, his hand resting on Sarah back as she sat up on the bed, grinning. “Asleep?”

   “For three days,” said Harry with a nod. The euphoria of Draco’s recovery was quickly ebbing away, and the dread was returning. “”You’ve been through quite a lot.”

   Draco looked like he was struggling to stay awake, or form any thoughts. He kept blinking slowly and his forehead was scrunched up. “I don’t,” he said slowly. “We were...the Ministry...”

   “Yes,” said Harry encouragingly as Sarah watched on, biting her lower lip. “That’s right, we were at the Ministry. We were prisoners, the Death Eaters-”

   “Voldemort,” interjected Draco, shaking, sweat dripping down his neck. “He had us, he...” His face went slack and he seemed to sink even further into the pillows he was propped against. A sound escaped from the back of his throat. “No,” he said hoarsely, looking to Harry with horror in his eyes. “Oh no, no...no?”

   Harry just gripped onto his hand even tighter. “I’m so sorry,” he managed to whisper.

   “My mum,” croaked Draco, his gaze still locked with Harry’s. “No I didn’t, she...no, no.” He curled in on himself as the tears began to fall, sobs wracking through his body. Harry kept hold of his hand, a terrible sadness weighing him down as Sarah wrapped herself around him. “No,” he uttered between sobs. “No, not again.”

   The grief was pouring from Draco, he emanated it. “I could have saved her,” he choked. “She could have, I should have-”

   He broke off, distraught. Harry felt helpless. He had more than his fair share of mourning for his own parents, but he’d never really known them to miss them, his earliest memories were of that hollowness. Draco had had a great void torn through him with his own mother’s murder, and now the wound had been reopened with her counterpart’s death.

   “You did all you could,” said Harry with conviction. “You didn’t cast the spell, you tried to protect her.”

   “It should have been me,” breathed Draco, the violent cries subsiding into convulsions.

   “It shouldn’t have been anyone!” said Sarah sternly, her black make-up in delicate streams down her face. “No one should have had to die! Not your mum, not Seamus.” She turned to Harry. “Not your parents. None of it’s right.”

   Draco laid back and stared at the white painted ceiling, trying to steady his wet breaths down. “She didn’t know any better,” he said, his voice tight.

   Harry managed a smile. “She loved you more than anything,” he said. “She would never have let anyone hurt you.”

   This brought on a fresh wave of grief, but Harry just let Draco cry it out. Their hands slipped apart and Draco clung onto the starchy white sheets as if they were anchoring him there. Sarah did a good job of rubbing his back and arms and making soothing noises.

   After a time, Draco calmed. His anguish blew out leaving him like an empty sail, gently rippling in the breeze. His chest shuddered up and down sporadically and his eyes dried. Harry and Sarah waited patiently, neither of them apparently wanting to speak until they felt Draco was ready. Eventually his voice rose out of him like a ghost from a crypt.

   “I know she wasn’t my mother.”

   He rubbed his red eyes and blew out heavily. He managed a very weak smile at Harry, then took Sarah’s hand again.

   “She wasn’t your mother _here,”_ agreed Harry, some of the tightness in his lungs easing a bit.

   Draco nodded then grabbed a tissue from the box on the dresser and blew his nose loudly, and rolled his head making his neck crack. He exhaled, dropping the tissue into the bin. “She was the other Draco’s mum though,” he said. There was a sadness to him, but also a resolved tone. “I can’t believe-” his voice caught but he swallowed and he carried on. “He’ll have to deal with that too, I would never have wished that on him.”

   “Of course not,” said Sarah kindly, stroking the creases in his pyjamas.

   He took a deep breath and nodded. “But she wasn’t my mum. My mum died last year, and that woman was very different to her. I know that, I do. I’ve already buried my mum.”

   Harry felt a bit awkward. As much as he wanted Draco to be okay, he didn’t want him to sweep this loss under the carpet, that wasn’t healthy. But Draco’s lip trembled and he took another breath to steady himself, and Harry decided to just let his friend deal with the bereavement however he saw fit. He obviously wasn’t going to just dismiss it, and perhaps a certain amount of disassociation was what he needed to survive.

   “How,” he said when he’d regained composure. “How am I alive?” he looked between the two Potters. “I remember, he fired the killing curse at me, how am I not dead?”

   Harry looked at Sarah, who nodded slightly. Yes, he thought. There was no point in delaying it. Harry slapped his thighs and reached forward, taking hold of Draco’s right wrist, and turned it over.

   In the other reality, Draco had a tattoo on that wrist; a great ugly black skull with a snake emerging from its mouth. That tattoo signified his acceptance into the ranks of the Death Eaters, and Harry knew he’d been given it just before the attack on the school. Draco had several other scars to keep his Dark Mark company, thin silvery lines that Harry suspected had been the result of the darkest moments of Draco’s life. But here, in this reality, his arms were unblemished.

   Or at least they had been.

   “What’s that?” Draco asked, staring at his wrist as he pulled it from Harry’s grip to get a better look.

   “Hermione,” he told him, “said it’s called a mobius strip. The sign of infinity.”

   Draco’s eyes flicked from the slender figure of eight stretched across his wrist to Harry, then Sarah, then back again.

   “Yeah,” he said. “But what’s it doing on my arm?” He rubbed at it, then very quickly realised it was still tender. “Will it heal?”

   Sarah was just looking at Harry, and he supposed she was right. This was his to explain.

   “It will heal,” he said. “But I don’t think it will fade, you – or more likely the other Draco – will be scarred for life.” Draco looked appalled.

   “What the Hell happened, how did I get a scar, you said I’ve been asleep!”

   “You’re right, you have,” said Harry quickly. “But you were also right before.”

   Draco looked blankly at him. “Harry,” he said, anger rising in him. “Just tell me.”

   He sighed. “You were right that Voldemort fired the killing curse at you, point blank range.”

   Draco cradled his arm, then blinked.   “Then why aren’t I dead?”

   Rather than scramble for the words, Harry raised his finger, and pointed at the bolt of lightning on his forehead. Draco took this in, then looked back at his wrist.

   “I don’t understand,” he said. “Are they the same?”

   Harry shook his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but it’s my best guess.” He crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself as if it might help keep him together. “Our mothers...they both gave their lives to save ours. Then when Voldemort turned the same spell on us.” He made a ‘poof’ motion with his fingers.

   “Voldemort is _dead?”_ cried Draco.

   “As much as he can be,” said Sarah. “Harry’s been explaining it to me. It’s what happened here when he was a baby. Voldemort was sort of dead, but his spirit floated around until it found another body. Harry reckons that’s what happened to our Voldemort last November, and more than likely what you did three days ago.”

   “But, for all intents and purposes?” pressed Draco, and Harry nodded.

   “As soon as the curse hit you,” he explained. “There was an explosion of light, the courtroom caved in, it was like a bomb had gone off, and Voldemort was gone, vanished.”

   Draco fell back against his pillows again. “Wow,” he said, his eyes staring blankly as he lightly rubbed the new scar with his thumb. “I...my mother, defeated Voldemort.”

   Harry allowed himself a little smile. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re a hero.”

   Draco stared at his scar, a smile playing on his own lips. “How about that mum?” he whispered. He raised his head to look at them. “What happened to my dad, everyone else? Did they escape?”

   Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. “No, I’d say definitely not.” Sarah grinned, pleased as punch, as Draco arched an eyebrow at them both.

   “What?” he asked warily.

   “You explain,” said Harry, and Sarah practically bounced on the bed.

   “Well,” she said, launching straight into it. “Sirius, Remus and Tonks found me just before the water started going backwards, so we knew you must have reversed the spell, so we decided to go one step further and wake everybody up to help stop Voldemort.”

   “Okay,” said Draco surprised.

   “One of the paintings mentioned that all the Wranglers had congregated in one place, and there was a giant one, so we thought that must be the queen, so we figured if we took her out then it might break the spell on all the people!”

   Draco turned to Harry. “You let her do this?”

   “I didn’t let her do anything,” said Harry, holding up his hands defensively.

   “Shh,” scolded Sarah. “So then we trap the queen and Sirius knocks her out good, then _voila!_ Everyone wakes up.”

   “You missed out the broomstick part,” said Harry, but Sarah waved a hand dismissively.

   “I’ll go back to that later. But it wasn’t just that the people unfroze,” she carried on. “Because all the spells the Wranglers were working on died down, so who pops up but Albus Dumbledore!” She tapped Draco’s arm in excitement. “You see, when the school was attacked, he tried to get here for reinforcements, but he ended up getting caught between the two places, mid-apparition. So all the people wake up just like I said, and Dumbledore finds us, because he just _knows,_ you know? And we tell him about the courtroom and Voldemort, and he charges down there with all the auroras and generally arrested anybody they could find.”

   “The Death Eaters were about to tear my head off,” chimed in Harry, slightly more subdued than his sister. “They thought I was somehow responsible, but Dumbledore crashes in and before you know it, everyone’s in custody.” He tilted his chin at Draco. “Including your dad.”

   Draco nodded his mouth tight. “Good,” he said. “Good.”

   The silence hung a little heavily for a moment, but Sarah’s glee wasn’t easily defeated. “You must be starving?” she said, clapping her hands together and jumping off the bed. “Let me get you something, whatever you fancy, I’ll run down to Dobby.”

   “Dobby’s here?” cried Draco, sitting bolt right up in bed.

   Sarah looked confused. “How do you know Dobby?”

   “Dobby was the Malfoy’s house elf before he was freed,” Harry explained. He turned to Draco. “He works in the kitchens now.”

   “Yes,” said Draco, his eyes alight. “Yes I want some food, whatever’s there I don’t care. But you tell Dobby he has to bring it to me himself, I won’t take no for an answer.”

   Sarah smiled and spun around, darting from the room. Harry watched Draco watch her go, then turn to face him. “You think he’ll let me give him a hug?” he asked.

 

***

 

   Sarah awoke in the dark, gasping for air. She dug her fingers into the mattress, scrunching up the sheets, and slowly exhaled. It was just a dream, she told herself, just a dream. The half moon was peeking through the gaps in the starch-stiff curtains and making dappled patterns on the floor. Somewhere a tap was dripping.

   There had been a waterfall, Sarah remembered as the dream began to fade. She’d been fighting to escape the churning currents, blinded by the hot white light shining through the waters’ surface. She pressed her hand to her forehead to find it beaded with sweat, and there was a trickle running down her back. Just a dream, she reminded herself sternly.

   She looked over at Draco in the metal cot bed next to her, then Harry in the one next along. Harry was fast asleep, peaceful and serene looking. Draco was unconscious amidst a violent tangle of bedding, his left foot dangling over the edge of the bed frame. He was making little clicking noise at the back of his throat as he breathed in and out.

   Sarah wiped her face with the sheet and picked up her glass of water from the cabinet to take a gulp. It was only half eleven, but it felt like the dead of night. She blinked her eyes several times and leant upright against her pillow, unwilling to go back to sleep just yet and risk returning to the drowning dream. After everything that had happened at the Ministry, she thought, she was definitely going to invest in some proper swimming lessons.

   There was still no one else in Hogwarts’ medical ward, and Sarah felt a slight chill as she looked around the shadowy room. She gathered the duvet around her and fished her wand off of the bedside cabinet, her eyes still darting about. She tried telling herself she was perfectly safe, but it was hard to believe when the school’s defences had been breached only days before.

   She’d seen the increased security from the Hogwarts staff for herself though, and the Ministry had sent a squad of auroras to watch over the students whilst everyone recovered from the insurgency. The building was as safe as it had even been, more so. But at night, when it was quiet, it was hard not to feel that old sense of panic creeping back in.

   Now that she’d had a few days to process what had happened since her and Draco had fallen into the wrong dimension, Sarah was feeling pretty morose about the whole thing. All that work she’d done to convince herself that her home was safe, that it was good progress to be going back to school, had all been unravelled. She’d been taken hostage, again. She’d been just as helpless as she’d been last year, and people had almost died. People _had_ died. She looked sadly over at Draco again.

   He’d been slowly improving since he’d woken up the day before. The loss of his mother for a second time was undoubtedly a terrible, traumatic event, but he’d managed not to break down at all this afternoon, and spent most of the time reminiscing on happy times they’d spent together back in his own world. But Sarah was feeling increasingly responsible for it all. Harry had explained that the prophecy hadn’t been about her in the end, but she couldn’t help but feel if she’d been able to rescue herself, then maybe Narcissa wouldn’t have had to throw her life away.

   She shuddered, and took another sip of water. She was going crazy in this place, her thoughts were eating her alive. The imprisonment was voluntary it was true, but the cabin fever was obviously playing havoc with her nerves. Maybe she could go for a walk, just a little one? Stretching her legs would do her a world of good she knew, and perhaps stop her mind from worrying quite so much.

   She swung her legs out of the bed and fumbled in the pale moonlight for the skirt and leggings Ron’s sister had leant her. She’d been kind enough to provide Sarah with a couple of different outfits whilst she was stuck in this reality; it would have been simpler to borrow from Hermione as Ginny Weasley liked to ask a lot of questions, but Hermione’s clothes had been too big. Sarah was sort of glad if she was honest, as Hermione’s clothes were on the whole frighteningly dull.

   She pulled a long, chunky knit cardigan over the t-shirt she’d been sleeping in then shuffled her cold feet into her own boots. She’d be quick, she promised herself. No one would ever know she’d been out. But she still felt a little guilty as she eased open the medical wing door.

   The student body of Hogwarts school was tucked away in their dorms now, and the institute was calm. But for the last few days all the youngsters could talk about was their ordeal, what had happened, and who had saved them. Harry, Ron and Hermione had practically been mobbed with teenagers desperate for answers, but their questions were all about the attacks on the school and Ministry. They had absolutely no idea anything from outside their realm of reality was involved, and therefore the boy who’d swapped bodies and the girl who didn’t technically exist had been hidden away in the medical ward, far from prying eyes.

   Not that they hadn’t tried. There had been a frightening increase of injuries within the Hogwarts population that Sarah couldn’t help but feel was a ploy to get into the ward, but Madam Pomfrey had set up a temporary base in a Transfiguration classroom for them, and soon enough the maladies died down.

   Sarah crept along the corridor, already feeling better for the blood rushing along her achy limbs. Some people had been allowed to visit her and Draco, it wasn’t like they were in solitary confinement. Harry hadn’t left at all for starters, and Ron and Hermione had been by frequently, Hermione more so since she’d caught up on the homework she’d fallen behind on in the whole day she’d missed of school.

   Sirius had brought Remus and Tonks by twice now, the first time whilst Draco had been asleep and the second last night after he’d woken up. He’d seemed very touched by Sirius’ concern for his welfare. On the first visit, Hermione and Ron had joined them too, and whilst Draco dreamed, Harry and the others had explained to the adults just what had been going on with all the reality-swapping. Sirius had had an inkling Sarah knew, and had worked out who she was almost straight away. But Remus and Tonks were utterly gobsmacked, it wasn’t the kind of thing that happened everyday after all. Their incredulity had soon been replaced by curiosity and, in Remus’ case, real excitement. He had endless questions about Sarah’s life with her parents, her dad in particular, and wanted to know everything there was to know about the Dimensional Leaps and Hotspots. It made Sarah a bit sad, reminding her about the immeasurable gulf between their two worlds.

   They had had a rather long and painful visit from the Ministry as well that morning. Sirius, Remus and Tonks had decided after finding out the truth that there were a couple of people from the government that should be informed about Sarah and Draco as well, otherwise the investigation into the Ministry’s attack and Voldemort’s motives were going to get too tricky. The three of them all swore blind that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad Eyed Moody could be trusted not only to help keep but cover up their secret, and Harry had agreed. Unfortunately there was no way to keep Minister Fudge out of the loop as well, and he had accompanied the two officials to the medical ward too. Sarah had become increasingly unnerved by the detail of questioning he went into. He sounded almost as fascinated by the whole affair as Voldemort.

   The corridors were deserted, just as Sarah had hoped. She still kept a vigilant eye out for the caretaker Filch’s cat Mrs Norris, or Peeves the poltergeist who would both be delighted to find a student out of bed. Whilst the coast was definitely clear, she stopped to examine a tapestry of a wild boar who said ‘hello’ to her in a Scottish accent, so she said hello back. She thought there might be alterations between the two schools in the different realities, variations in decor and secret passageways, but as far as she could tell from what little she had seen they were pretty much identical. She found it comforting in a way, but at the same time she felt like she was looking for discrepancies, something to assure her this was still an alternate reality and home was as far away as it ever was. The boar started snuffling around in the dirt so she carried on walking.

   Sarah was torn, she couldn’t help it. She was desperate to get home to her own world, to see her mum and dad and feel their arms around her whilst she told them everything that had happened since Sunday afternoon and that storm in the old History classroom. But then, that would mean leaving Harry behind, the real Harry as she’d come to think of him. She’d seen glimpses of this boy when she’d been growing up in her own brother, the bravery and the kindness. But they’d been replaced by bitterness and anger in the recent months, poisoned further by Parvati Patil and Harry’s broken heart in the wake of Seamus’ death.

   She wasn’t even completely convinced they would be able to get home, and thinking about it made her stomach squirm with uneasiness as she stared out of a window at the great lake down below. Dumbledore had been working on the spell to send them back, according to Hermione, but like they’d said before, it was much easier to pull a person back to their own reality rather than try and send them back independently. What if they got stranded in some sort of in-between place? There must be something between the different realities, Sarah had decided, otherwise where did the doppelgangers go when people like Draco and Harry took their places? They could be lost in the nothingness if Dumbledore tried to send her and Draco home. They could be worse than dead.

   “Are you okay?”

   Sarah jumped out of her skin, forcefully breaking from her macabre reverie. Terry Boot was standing behind her, looking concerned.

   Panic and guilt seized her both at once. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t see anyone, she had wanted so desperately to avoid any awkward questions from anybody, and now here she was, face to face with her brother’s best friend. He doesn’t know you, she told herself as she clutched her chest, you don’t know him, even Harry doesn’t really know him. This is a different reality.

   “Oh sorry,” said Terry, taking a step forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just it’s after curfew.” He had a slight northern accent of some description that Sarah could never place, Manchester perhaps, or maybe somewhere in Yorkshire. He looked almost exactly like he did in her own world, nearly as tall as Draco with dark blond hair curling out from under a woollen hat. He managed to pull off wearing a cardigan over his t-shirt without looking even the least bit feminine, and had his hands jammed in his jeans pockets as he peered over frameless glasses with deep, chocolate brown eyes.

   “Um,” she said, trying to collect her thoughts. “No, that’s okay, but why are you out if it’s past curfew?” She thought maybe she could distract him as she tried to edge away.

   He pulled aside his cardigan to reveal a shiny Ravenclaw prefect badge pinned to the collar of his Led Zeppelin t-shirt. “Special privileges,” he said with a crooked grin. “Apparently there are nutters out there who want to take over the school.”

   “Oh,” she said, not sure how else to respond.

   “Seeing as you don’t have one,” he said, wiggling the badge. “Maybe you should be in your dorm?”

   “Yeah,” Sarah replied, taking another few steps away from him. “That’s probably a good idea, I didn’t know it was so late.”

   “You’re quite the celebratory you know,” said Terry as she retreated, so quietly she almost didn’t hear. She couldn’t help but stop and turn back towards him.

   “Yeah,” she said again. “Seems that way.”

   “Be careful, okay?”

   Sarah regarded him. What did he care? At least he wasn’t harassing her with questions like she thought he would. “Okay,” she said with a nod, then walked back to the medical ward. It was strange, she thought along the way, how someone like Harry or Draco could be entirely different people between realities, whereas what she’d seen of Terry he seemed exactly the same. How many factors had resulted in that? She suddenly felt very tired.

   It didn’t take her long to get back to her temporary home, and thankfully she saw no one else on her way there. But once she opened the door all thoughts of sleepiness vanished. “Oh _there_ you are!” cried Hermione.

   All the lights were on, and Harry and Draco were both awake and out of bed. “Where have you been!” accused Harry. “Ron’s out looking for you.”

   “We were worried,” added Draco, coming over to her to check her over, as if she’d had a chance to get into trouble the whole twenty minutes she’d been gone.

   “I’m fine,” she insisted. “I just needed a walk, what’s going on?”

   The boys looked at Hermione. “We’ve done it,” she breathed, her face flush.

   Sarah didn’t quite understand. “Done what?”

   “The spell,” said Hermione, her smile wide. “Dumbledore finished the spell. You’re going home.”

 

***

 

   Draco sat on the side of the hospital bed, rubbing his thumb over his newly acquired scar. He was dressed back in his own clothes, having spent the best part of the last week in a pair of Harry’s borrowed pyjamas, and he’d had a good, long shower in the medical ward’s communal bathroom. The mobius strip under his thumb still tingled a little when he touched it, but it didn’t stop him tracing the thin scar back and forth. His head had been hurting worse than ever since he’d regained consciousness, but he figured maybe concussion did that to you. Whatever the reason, he really hoped it would let up once he got back home, he didn’t think he could take much more of this pounding.

   Dawn had broken not long ago, buttery sunlight beaming through the early morning fog that was winding its way through the grounds of Hogwarts school. Draco had watched it with a knot in his stomach, an empty detachment keeping his tired eyes open. He and Sarah were going home. He pressed his thumb down again but all he felt was a slight stinging. His heart was numb.

   His life had been split into two irreconcilable parts, and now the moment had come to choose between them. He thought of Hermione back home, probably worried to death where he and Sarah had gone, if they were okay. And he thought of Harry here, his brother, the person who gave him strength more than anyone else in his life had ever been capable of. It made his head hurt even more.

   He had Blaise at home too, who would be equally if not more worried about him, and his new friend Dean. Lily, Sirius, Remus. Even James maybe. Dobby. He had school again, which felt more like home than Malfoy Manor had ever done. He had his _life._

   And this was the other’s Draco’s life, which Draco had absolutely no right to steal, no more than Harry had back in his world last November. He understood now how it wasn’t really a choice at all, it was just what was right, and he was finding some consolation in being absolved of the decision. It didn’t mean he wasn’t sad.

   And guilty, crikey the guilt was all but eating him alive of what state he was returning the other Draco’s life back to him. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his mother in the flash of green life, heard her screams in his ears. He inhaled deeply and pressed his thumb on his scar again. Not his mother, he told himself sternly. Narcissa. He’d already buried his mum, and didn’t have the strength in him to do it a second time, that he would have to leave to the other Draco, whom he had no doubt would ever forgive him for what he’d allowed to happen.

   He thought of Potter, back home, the rage he carried with him now like a torch for Seamus Finnigan and the mess Harry had left behind him last November. He’d always argued it wasn’t Harry’s fault what had happened in the Black Forest, but he couldn’t seem to bring the same conviction to his own doorstep. He would never forgive himself for what he had failed to do for this world’s Narcissa Malfoy.

   Sarah opened the bathroom door with a bang, drying her choppy black hair with a towel as steam billowed out. Draco blinked and dragged his thoughts back to the present. Sarah was also back in her own clothes but currently minus any of her piercings or make-up, and Draco was struck by just own young she looked. She glanced at Harry, Ron and Hermione who were pouring over some parchment and talking intently, then came and sat by Draco. “How you doing?” she asked rubbing her head.

   Draco wrapped his hand around his scar and managed a smile. “Okay,” he said honestly. “Just thinking.” She nodded then picked up Hermione’s brush from the bedside locker and began to detangle her hair. He knew she was also scared the spell wouldn’t work and they would get stranded somewhere in between the two worlds, but Draco was less concerned about that. Dumbledore was a formidable wizard, and in this reality he’d never been wounded by Voldemort like he had in their own world. And his old friend Severus Snape had been asked to oversee the incantation, so between him and Hermione, Draco was sure they would get home with no trouble. He just wasn’t a hundred per cent sure he wanted to.

   “I saw Blaise on my way from the kitchens,” said Sarah as she tossed the towel over the metal bed frame and began easing her various nuts and bolts back into her ears and nose. “I smiled and said hello, and she acted like I was something that had just crawled out of the Black Lagoon.” Sarah stuck her tongue out and began screwing her stud back through. “Why ish she tho ditherent?”

   This was another very good reason to go home Draco knew; Blaise Zabini in this world was a shadow, a mouse. After talking to Harry about it yesterday he’d found out her father had died in mysterious circumstances when she was child, and he figured growing up with only her mother would definitely be enough to turn her into a recluse. No matter how much it grieved him to leave Harry he could never live in a world without Blaise.

   “Don’t worry,” he said brighter than he felt. “We’ll see the real deal soon enough, and she can do your make-up properly again.”

   “Urgh,” said Sarah with an eye roll as she reached for the make-up Ron had managed to borrow off of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. “I need some decent foundation,” she grumbled.  

   Draco watched Sarah’s well practiced application as he ate some more of the croissants she’d bought up from the school kitchens. Draco had almost gone with her to say goodbye to the Dobby of this world, but then he decided against it. It would be too confusing to explain at that moment, so he’d left instructions with Harry to bid farewell on his behalf later.

   Just as Sarah was finishing the thick black lines under her eyes Hermione came over, breathless and excited. “I think we’re ready when you are,” she said. Draco knew she was only keen to try a new and complex spell, and she’d been ecstatic a certain ingredient had been found as it was out of season and very rare. But he couldn’t help but be hurt at her eagerness to get rid of himself and Sarah. Sarah must have felt the same as she slowly put the lid back on the eyeliner pencil, her whole body taught. Hermione picked up on their mood and looked embarrassed.

   “Oh,” she said a little flustered. “But, if you need more time, that’s fine, I could-”

   “No,” said Draco kindly, even managing a smile. “It’s fine, there’s no sense putting it off.” He addressed Sarah and rubbed her back reassuringly. “Have you got everything you came with?” She shuddered under his fingertips, then looked about their little section of the medical ward, over their few borrowed possessions littering the cabinets.

   “Yes,” she said, her voice tight. “I think so.” Draco had inherited his double’s body, so had made sure to dress back in the clothes he’d arrived in, as a courtesy. Harry’s pyjamas were folded on the pillow Draco had been moulded to for the past week.

   “Let’s go then.”

   Dumbledore and Severus had visited them all in the early hours of the morning, along with the professors McGonagall and Flitwick. Apparently the spell involved all their magical disciplines and they had all contributed in its preparation. However, Dumbledore had explained, as Harry had travelled to Draco and Sarah’s universe, and Ron and Hermione had performed the incantation to bring him back, it would give it a lot of extra potency now if those three were the ones to physically perform the spell that would take Draco and Sarah home. Snape seemed uncomfortable in giving three Gryffindors such a level of responsibility and had glowered at them through the entire conversation. The other two seemed more inclined to agree with the Headmaster, but in the end it was decided for everyone’s peace of mind that Snape would be the one to assist with the final preparations. Harry and Ron were not especially charmed by this idea, but Severus perked up notably. He even smiled at Sarah and Draco, whom all the teachers now knew to be not of this universe.

   Draco couldn’t help but feel reassured as well. Harry and Severus may have hated each other, but Draco had always found the potions master to be a port in a storm, and thought his no-nonsense approach calming. Ron, however, was at present grumbling before he’d even left the medical wing.

   “Dunno why he has to come along, greasy old git,” he said for the dozenth time. “We could do it just fine.”

   Hermione tsked and reminded him that last year the two of them had just written the letter, created the conduit. The teachers did all the rest, and they’d been given far more responsibility this time round. Ron wanted to know why someone else couldn’t have been given Snape’s responsibilities, but by this time he was out in the corridor and leaving Draco’s hearing range.

   Sarah trailed behind them, and Draco followed Harry as they made to leave the room, when suddenly the other boy stopped dead. A mild look of horror passed over his face, and he darted back to the bedside table he’d been using the last few days. Draco waited for him as he yanked open the drawer, and rummaged around for a panicked minute before finally withdrawing a fine silver chain accompanied by a puff of relief. Draco had been around enough wealth all his life to recognise that what Harry was holding was an incredibly valuable bit of craftsmanship, and the purple stone suspended in the delicate nest of a pendant was like no jewel he’d ever seen.

   “What’s that?” he breathed, taking a step towards Harry, his eyes fixed. Harry held it up for him to see, and Draco took the cool oval nest in his fingers. The stone was floating in the middle of its own accord, presumably fixed in place with magic.

   “I don’t know,” said Harry with a shrug. “Not really, it’s a bit complicated I guess, but it’s part of the spell to send you back.”

   “How?” asked Draco, looking Harry in his green eyes. “No one’s never mentioned it.”

   “That’s because no one else knows about it,” Harry told him with a raised eyebrow, looping the chain over his head and tucking the pendant under his t-shirt. “Like I said, complicated.”

   Draco eyed the slight tell-tale bump under Harry’s top in trepidation. “What’s it do?” he couldn’t help but ask as they walked out of the medical bay.

   Harry paused for a moment. “It will make sure that everything that’s supposed to travel back to your world, does.”

   “Oh,” replied Draco. That didn’t sound too bad. “Okay.” They walked along in silence for a bit; the others must have carried on up ahead. “Thanks,” he said after a while.

   Harry frowned. “For what?”

   “Dunno,” said Draco, feeling a little awkward. “For not being a moron.” Harry laughed.

   “You’re welcome,” he told him. “And thank you too.”

   “I guess,” Draco began, rubbing his throbbing forehead. “We’re never going to see each other again.”

   Harry sighed. “Well, that’s what I thought last time, and look how that turned out.”

   It was Draco’s turn to laugh. “It might be nice to meet under slightly less stressful circumstances though. Y’know, say the pub? Instead of a battle against Voldemort?”

   Harry clapped him on the shoulder with a grin as they climbed a flight of stairs. “You never know.”

   Hermione appeared at the top of the steps, slightly out of breath. “Oh _there_ you are,” she cried. “Is there a problem?”

   Harry smiled patiently. “We were just discussing how we might never see each other again.”

   Hermione froze. “Ah,” she said, going pink. “Sorry.” She darted back around the corner without another word.

   The boys stood for a few moments. “You’re right,” said Harry eventually. “Chances are we won’t see each other again. We shouldn’t see each other again in fact, if the universe behaves itself.”

   Draco stared at the nearest portrait, a young girl in a floaty white dress, who suddenly seemed very interested what was happening in her neighbour’s frame down the corridor and scuttled off. “Yeah,” he said, feeling heavy. “It’s cool though, y’know, being able to say goodbye. Last time I didn’t know...”

   He trailed off. “Who I really was,” said Harry, nodding. “No one did,” he said by way of an apology. “Only my mum and Sirius. Not even Sarah.”

   “It was,” said Draco slowly, picking his words. “A bit disconcerting to learn the truth.”

   “I’m glad we got a chance to see each other again, and Sarah,” Harry said, smiling.   “Clear things up a bit.” Draco looked at him, really looked. His scruffy black hair, the green eyes behind the glasses, square shoulders and square jaw. He was almost identical to the other Harry, but at the same time so totally different. There was a lightness about him, an openness. It made Draco smile too.

   “Take care of yourself,” he said, putting his arms around his shoulders. Harry returned the embrace, equally as unabashed.

   “You too,” he said with a pat on the back.

   They walked the rest of the way to the old History of Magic classroom lost in their own thoughts. Draco was feeling okay about the impending leap, less like he was being marched to the gallows. He and Sarah were going home, to their real lives, and Harry and the others would continue their lives here. No one was dying, it was selfish to morn just because he wouldn’t be a part of this world. Harry had made this decision himself last November, and Draco finally understood why he couldn’t have possibly made any other. Everything was being put back in the natural order, and it felt good.

   Hermione was waiting for them outside of the classroom. “Oh,” she said, standing up straight. “Hi, um, great.” She jerked a thumb at the door that was open ajar beside her. “We’re just finishing setting up.”

   “Thanks Hermione,” said Harry. Pushing it open.

   But she stopped Draco just as he was about to follow. “Um, could I just have a quick word?” she asked, looking between the boys. Harry shrugged and pulled the door to behind him.

   “Everything alright?” said Draco, a little nervous again. He was ready to go now, he didn’t want any more hanging around.

   “No everything’s fine,” Hermione said looking a little distracted. “I just feel awful about how I’ve been acting.”

   Draco actually felt relieved, and exhaled with a small laugh. “Oh don’t worry about it,” he said genuinely. “I know you’re just excited about being part of the spell, and finding that ingredient, the rare one.”

   “The refined Dragon’s Bane,” she said automatically, but it didn’t look like her heart was really in it. She wrung her hands. “I guess,” she said, looking at her fingers. “But...I supposed I want to put things back the way they should be too, and that’s not fair.”

   “It’s totally fair,” interjected Draco. “That’s exactly what I’ve just been thinking about. There maybe things about this world I’ll miss, but this isn’t my body, or my life.” He took her hand. “Sarah and I need to go back, and your Draco needs to come home. It’s what’s right.”

   Hermione was looking at her hand, and Draco suddenly realised he was holding it. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and made to let go. But Hermione gripped on.

   “Our Draco,” she said. “Our _Malfoy_ , he really is nothing like you, at all.”

Draco couldn’t seem to lift his eyes from their fingers. “I think there was probably a time where we were very similar,” he said, his throat tight.

   “Then maybe you will be again,” she said, a smile brightening up her face.

   Draco was fighting against an instinct kicking at him like a broncin buck. “I know you’re not her.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was like he was caught in a hurricane, and her hand was the eye of the storm.

   “Not who?” she said, confused but kind.

   “Hermione. You’re not my Hermione. You’re bossy and sarcastic and there’s this whole...” he waved his free hand about. “Hair thing going on.”

   Hermione frowned and smoothed down her wild waves.

   “But,” Draco could feel the lump in his throat, now the moment was actually here. He was scared. “Sarah’s right. This spell could fail, we could never materialise and get lost between worlds or something, and I have to tell you, even if it’s not really you, I just...” He faltered. “Maybe there’s some way she’ll know?”

   “Know what?” whispered Hermione. Their hands had pulled their bodies ever so slightly closer together, and Draco could feel her breath on his skin.

   He hadn’t even realised his lungs had been empty until he took a breath and looked her in the eye. “I love you.”

   She stared, her mouth slightly open, her eyes disbelieving. He slid his free hand behind her neck, and before he could change his mind, kissed her softly on the lips.

   “Goodbye,” he whispered, then dropped his hands from her body and walked into the classroom.

   He only had a moment to decide whether or not to regret what he’d just done. The taste on his lips told him no, but the logical side of his brain was screaming he was a cheat. Whatever the case, he decided as he stepped into the old History classroom, he’d got the chance to say goodbye. To both of them. That was a good thing.

   Something rather strange was happening in the classroom, and it took Draco a second to process it all. Snape was standing behind a desk someone had put the right way up again, nursing a cauldron and surrounded by bits of ingredients. To his side, peering into the mixture, was a curious looking Sarah Potter, and Severus Snape was talking to her. And smiling.

   “Do you see how they blend together?” he asked, stirring the liquid and leaning slighting over to Sarah. “The way it froths? That’s what’s supposed to happen. Now you try.”

   Draco raised an eyebrow as Sarah smiled back tentatively and pointed her own wand at the potion, swirling it around just as Severus instructed. The pair of them seemed to have completely missed Draco and Hermione’s entrance. “What’s going on?” said Draco quietly as he stepped over to where Harry and Ron were stood, arms crossed and mouths open, by the blackboard graffitied with profanities. Grey clouds were gathering outside the large window to their left.

   “Dunno,” whispered Ron with a shrug. “The second she walked in it was like Christmas had come early, he got all... _happy.”_ Ron visibly shuddered. “Asked her to help. Think the flattery’s made her bonkers.”

   “That’s it,” said Severus proudly, as she sprinkled in a glittery substance. “Perfect, you’re a natural.”

   “I’m thinking adoption,” said Harry, mesmerised as Severus looked down on Sarah like a long lost father. Sarah seemed to have forgotten that her family hated this man and was bathing in the attention and praise.

   “She has been adopted?” asked Draco dryly as Hermione came and stood by his side. She didn’t seem mad about the kiss which eased his conscious somewhat. “Or will be.”

   “Either,” said Harry with a small head shake as a fork of lightening pierced the sky. Draco remembered this from before. The weather had taken a violent turn for the worse just before they’d jumped. He felt a flutter of nerves.

   “Harry!” Sarah cried out from behind the cauldron. “Can you see? He says I’m doing great.” She beamed, but Severus looked coolly up at him.

   “Yes,” he said good naturedly. “I am happy to see at least one of you inherited some sense when it comes to potions. Your mother was quite the natural.”   Sarah giggled and poked her tongue out at Harry, too giddy with success to be sensitive.

   Draco couldn’t help but smile too. “She wants to be useful,” he said to Harry. “Stand on her own feet.”

   “Well I wish it wasn’t Snape encouraging her,” he grumbled back. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”

   Draco rubbed his temple. “I cannot wait to get rid of this headache,” he said to no one in particular.

   “Headache?” asked Hermione.

   Draco nodded. “Had it since I crossed over.”

   “I think we’re just about ready,” said Severus, almost pleasantly. Draco was used to it but the other three just stared. He looked between them, then down at Sarah. “If you’d like to take your places.”

   Draco and Sarah went to stand by the window as the others collected near the door. Severus was handing out charms, glass spheres of swirling light that fit neatly in each of the three students hands. “Why can’t Harry just lose his temper again?” asked Ron, sullenly. It wasn’t the first time he’d voiced this opinion, and Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “That worked last time, why can’t they just shout their way back?”

   “Because,” replied Hermione patiently, “the factors that lead to Harry finding that particular universe before were almost infinitesimal. They would be more likely to end up in a completely different universe than they every would be of getting home.”

   “Quiet please,” interrupted Severus. “We cannot afford even the slightest of mistakes.”

   “Professor Snape’s right,” said Harry tensely, briefly touching the lump under his t-shirt that indicated where the purple pendant lay. “We only get one shot at this.”

   The teacher looked at the pupils. “Have you...said your goodbyes?” he asked, looking between Draco and Sarah and the others. “Now will be your last chance.”

   Draco wanted to say yes, but the word got caught in his throat. He and Harry had had their moment, and he’d even kissed Hermione for crying out loud, but still he found himself unable to move a muscle, to agree that he and Sarah were ready to leave. Dread was nestled in his stomach, taking root in the flag-stoned floor through his legs. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

   It was Sarah who broke the tension, by stepping away from Draco and walking over to give Harry one, last tearful hug. “I’ll never forget you,” she said with only the smallest of hiccups as Ron stepped forward and patted her back.

   “Me either,” said Harry cradling her head. “You guys are awesome.”

   Draco cracked and went over to hug them both, and then they were all five of them involved in one large bundle.

   Severus cleared his throat.

   Draco stepped back, wiping his eyes and laughing. Sarah did the same. “I have _got_ to get my make-up back,” she quipped, flicking back droplets from her fingers. Harry and the others held their wands up as they regained their composure, holding the spheres in their lefts hands as they glowed. Severus handed Draco the letter Harry and the others had been writing in the medical ward earlier, now safely sealed in a blank envelope and warm to the touch with enchantment.

   “Goodbye Draco,” said the professor sincerely. “I wish you all the best.” He turned to the youngest Potter. “And Sarah,” he said weightily and took her hands in his. “It was,” he lowered his head. “A privilege to have met you. Please convey my warmest regards to your mother, and I hope you have a wonderful life.”

   He let go of her and turned away. Sarah stared back with a mixture of confusion and awe. “Miss Granger,” Severus carried on in his usual stern tone. “I have every confidence in your abilities, and am trusting you that nothing will go wrong. You have a very precious cargo.”

   And with that he swept out of the door and banged it shut behind him. Ron’s mouth fell open. “Is...is he in love with you?” he stammered.

   “Oh shut up,” snapped Sarah, bright red as Hermione locked the door to ensure against intrusions. “He’s in love with my _mother,_ everyone knows it.” Harry shared a look with Draco that suggested that everyone did _not_ in fact know this, but both boys decided this was not the time to press the matter. “Still,” said Sarah happily as she took hold of the letter in Draco’s hand. “He said I was good at potions.”

   The wind was really howling now, and rain splattered on the window pane. It was like the Heavens knew they were about to rip a whole between universes and was bracing itself.

   Draco and Sarah were clutching the enchanted letter between them, the letter that would take them home again once the spell was activated. It could have been any item Draco knew, but like before their conduit home was also a message to those beyond.

   “Who’s it for?” Draco asked Harry over the rising storm, giving the letter a flick.

   Harry aimed his wand. “Open it when you’re home,” he said over the rising winds. “There’s a little something for everyone.”

   Draco felt a thrill as Hermione and Ron aimed their wands too, all aiming them at the letter between Sarah and himself.

   “Are you ready?” asked Harry. Ron’s forehead was beaded with sweat, Hermione looked calm and focused.

   Draco nodded. “Goodbye,” he said, the word deafened by the storm. Sarah squeezed his hand.

   “Love you,” she called out to no one in particular.

   Harry swallowed, his eyes locked on Draco. “NOW!” he screamed, and the three students fired.

   With an incredible roar of thunder the glass window shattered in every direction, lightening crashed down with blinding force and the wind howled, drowning all else out. Draco was thrown to the floor, and he tried to shield his eyes from the startling light that filled the room. Someone was screaming, but he couldn’t tell who as voices mingled with lashing rain and raging winds.

   Then everything was still.

   Carefully, Draco lowered his arm from his face and blinked at the sight before him. He’d been knocked back to the door of the classroom, and Sarah Potter was beside him. Glass glittered everywhere and a gentle breeze blew through the gaping hole in the wall that was once a window. The storm was dissipating, the clouds rolling away before his eyes.

   “Did it work?” asked Sarah, staring round the empty room. The others were gone, just like Draco had expected.

   “I guess so,” he said slowly, rising to his feet and brushing the glass off. Her gritty hand found its way into his and she pulled herself up too.

   “Oh _Draco!”_ she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “We did it, we’re _home!”_ He returned her embrace, a smile creeping onto his face.

   “We’re back,” he whispered, looking out at the rapidly clearing sky and the sun shining down on the bare brittle trees. “Everything’s okay.”

   Sarah let out a loud, shaky laugh and let go of him to dance around the room. “We _did_ it, we _did_ it,” she sang as she twirled about.

   Draco smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Why wasn’t he running out the door, why was he still looking around the room? What was he searching for?

   _“POTTER!”_ came a bellow from outside the door as someone started pounding on it. Sarah and Draco both jumped backwards, and looked at each other.

   “Who could that be?” Draco wondered and Sarah shrugged apprehensively. The banging continued, and Draco walked slowly over to the door. When he pulled it, it was still locked. An icy sensation slid down his insides. Why would it be locked in their world?

   He turned the key and the door swung inwards so fast he had to leap out of the way. A flustered Severus Snape all but fell on top of him, but steadied himself before he could lose his balance, then stared in surprise at Draco, then Sarah.

   “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands on their shoulders, staring around the empty room in confusion. “What happened?”

   “Um,” said Sarah, her breaths short and sharp. “Well I thought we’d crossed over...but that would mean _you’ve_ crossed over too...”

   Severus’ eyes had been frantically combing the room, but suddenly they flicked to Sarah. “No,” he said measuredly. “No we haven’t gone anywhere, the furniture’s exactly the same, the words on the blackboard.”

   There was a roaring in Draco’s brain, the headache had gone into overdrive.

   “But we have to!” insisted Sarah. “We’ve crossed over, the others have gone!”

   “They have indeed,” said Severus gravely, picking up a sliver of glass from the floor and turning it in the October sunshine. A sinking sensation was creeping back into Draco’s stomach where the dread had just been rooted. “They are gone,” conceded Severus as the light from his shard reflected on the walls. “But we did not lose consciousness. And from yours’ and Mr Potter’s accounts of your previous journeys, that is essential to the Dimensional Leap.”

   Draco stumbled against a nearby desk. That was it, he realised, the nagging sensation he’d had. There had been no blackout, he’d barely even closed his eyes. And Severus was right, everything was just as it had been a few minutes ago. But if they hadn’t moved...

   “Where are Harry, Ron and Hermione?” he asked, his voice croaking, his hand crushing the still unopened letter.

   The glass shard dropped to the floor and shattered as Severus let his arms fall by his side. He stared out of the remnants of the window as white fluffy clouds rolled peacefully by. “They could be anywhere. The spell could have sent them to any universe at all.”

   Draco felt the whole world slide on its axis. There was no air in his lungs, his knees had turned to water. His tongue felt like sandpaper, but still, as he gripped into the chewing gum underneath the table behind him, he was able to push one, single word out of his throat.

   _“What?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...uh oh! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please review!
> 
> Hxxx


	9. All Along The Watchtower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This. Is. Not. Good!” Seamus Finnigan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go! The end of Book Two...

Epilogue -

   All Along The Watchtower

  

“There must be some kind of way out of here,”

Said the joker to the thief

“There's too much confusion

I can't get no relief

Businessmen they drink my wine

Plowmen dig my earth

None will level on the line

Nobody of it is worth”

 

“No reason to get excited,”

The thief he kindly spoke

“There are many here among us

Who feel that life is but a joke

But you and I we've been through that

And this is not our fate

So let us not talk falsely now

The hour's getting late”

 

All along the watchtower

Princes kept the view

While all the women came and went

Bare feet servants too

 

Outside in the cold distance

A wild cat did growl

Two riders were approaching

And the wind began to howl

Jimi Hendrix

 

   Alex teetered at the top of the stepladder he had resting against his wall of CDs in the study of his little home. Sir Woofsalot scampered about at the base, barking excitedly as the ladder rocked back and forth, and Alex grabbed one of the shelves to steady himself. It wasn’t that he was afraid of falling, after all it wouldn’t hurt him if he didn’t want it to. But even after all these centuries he’d just never been able to shake his fear of heights.

   “What?” he called done to the tiny terrier puppy as he jumped about, tail wagging furiously, pink tongue lolling out again as he fired off another shrill couple of barks. Alex shook his head and turned his attention back to the CDs he’d been dusting for the last hour or so. He wasn’t sure how dust could exist in a place he’d constructed from his own mind, but then he had decided that he did in fact have a totally brilliant mind, so had carried on with his chore, humming Bridge Over Troubled Water as he went.

   Having had his first two houseguests in the best part of a millennia, it had awakened a spark of pride in Alex about the old place and he’d been entertaining himself the last few days by giving everything a little spruce. Seeing as he’d got himself every scrap of music he had ever liked on CD since the recording of music began (and a few from before) he had spent the best part of the day working his way through the racks of disks, giving each one a wipe and a polish. It turned out, there were some perks to accidently letting someone from your universe fall into another one, and thus eliminating all branch-off realities from your timeline for the next few years. His underwear drawer was much neater for one.

   He blew away a strand of blond hair that seemed determined to fall into his eyes and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Housework was laborious. It was a good job he had a cold bottle of pinot grigio and the best of the Seventies to keep him going.

   Sir Woofsalot growled and chirped, then began running around the room like a maniac, his nails scratching frantically on the floorboards Alex had just waxed yesterday. He rolled his eyes and fished out the next CD to dust.

   He may have had less work to do, but that didn’t mean he’d hadn’t been preoccupied. All he’d been able to do was wait, hoping, just hoping, everything was still going to be okay. Draco Malfoy had certainly thrown a bit of a wrench into the proceedings, but Alex was certain he’d put enough safety measures in place that his plan would still work. And cleaning helped him stop thinking otherwise.

   Harry was due to perform the spell soon, and Alex had stopped watching in favour of his music collection. He was concerned irrationally that his nerves would somehow effect the incantation, and it would be much better to leave his boys to their goodbyes and check in later when everything was back in order. It was as he was thinking this he realised he’d cleaned the A to Bs of his Soul selection twice.

   There was a soft thump on the floor, and Alex looked down to see Sir Woofsalot as he plonked his bum on the wooden boards, and looked up at Alex panting. He yelped and wagged his tail, pleased with himself. He had something by his paws, a greyish sort of lump which had evidently made the noise a moment ago.

   Alex frowned and climbed down. His attempts thus far to teach the west highland white terrier the basics of ‘fetch’ had merely resulted in several pairs of good shoes being chewed up and slobbered on.   So why had the puppy brought him something now? He must have done something really bad, Alex decided, and was offering him up a present as recompense.

   Half way down the ladder, Alex saw the grey lump flutter under his feet, and Sir Woofsalot barked, making him jerk in surprise and almost lose his footing. “Oh Woofsy!” he cried out again in annoyance. He really didn’t fancy the inconvenience of a broken leg.

   It was obvious now as he reached the floor that the lump was one of his pigeons, and as it was regaining consciousness it was flailing its wings around in an attempt to get away from Woofsy. The puppy yelped delightedly at every wriggle the bird made, snapping at it with his needle-like teeth.

   Alex jumped the last few steps and swiped at Sir Woofsalot’s nose, making him dart off and bark again, his tail still wagging. Alex muttered under his breath about puppy disobedience training camps, but Woofsy just dropped his bum to the floor again and let his tongue fall out of his mouth.

   Very gently, Alex scooped the pigeon from off the floorboards as it frantically cooed and flapped it’s wings. It wasn’t injured from what he could see, and once he’d soothed the bird enough it calmed down to allow him to remove the little message attached to its foot. Maybe it had been in such a hurry to deliver it it had flown into a window, thought Alex. If it had stunned itself and fallen to the floor, Sir Woofsalot would have been able to pick it up. There was no way that dog had the smarts to take down a fully functioning bird. He could barely fathom the dog flap.

   The message was all scrunched, like it had been mashed against the pigeon’s leg in a rush. Alex felt a little flurry of nerves. Slowly, he unravelled the rolled up parchment, still awkwardly cradling the bird in his left hand.

   “Are you _KIDDING me?”_ he yelled out as the hastily scrawled words sunk into his brain. There wasn’t much written down, but what there was chilled his blood where he stood.

   He took off from the study, his feet pounding through the hallway, the kitchen, then out through the utility room and into the barn. At least a third of his carrier pigeons were missing from the rafters, and Alex looked down at the one in his hand in trepidation. Woofsy was pelting around again, kicking up the straw and dust on the cold concrete floor.

   Alex couldn’t remember the last time so many pigeons had been out at once, and he started to feel sick, really sick. His dog was barking in the house down, unsettling the birds still in the rafters, a chorus of cooing rising in the air. This was bad, this was really bad.

   Another pigeon soared back into the barn through one of the open windows in the roof, heading straight for Alex with the message on its leg. He hurriedly eased the dozy bird still in his hand onto a perch then unfastened the new note to read it as quickly as possible.

   “Oh no!” he moaned, even more confused than he had been a minute ago, the words on the paper not making any sense. “No, no, no, no, NO!”

   Another two pigeons flew through the window from the starry sky, but Alex had barely a moment to register it. Before he could even reach out his hand for the birds, all three of the windows that lead out into Limbo beyond were blotted out by grey feathers and a deafening assault of coos and squawks. Alex ducked instinctively as the pigeons dive-bombed him, battering him with hundreds of wings and pecking at him with dozens of pointy beaks.

   He yelled out, shooing them away as they trilled loudly at him, each wanting their message read before the others. Alex scrabbled around, grabbing legs at random to pluck off their notes. He only needed to read a few to get the gist of what was going on.

   He fanned a pathway through the frantic birds, scooped up Sir Woofsalot in one hand, then darted out of the barn, slamming the door shut behind him. Hopefully his pigeons would calm down if he gave them time, but he couldn’t waste a moment reading any more of their messages, and they wouldn’t like that. He rolled the little puppy from his hand and the two of them sprinted through the house once again, pausing only for Alex to snatch his tailcoat from a peg in the hallway.

   He burst through his front door giving it only the barest of mental instruction of where he wanted to go, but the second it was open the administration hall appeared, and Alex and his dog bolted on through to the marbled corridor without even a blink. Woofsy’s barks echoed off the walls Alex would normally walk calmly to reach Jia’s office, but today he had to make a stop before he headed to his manager’s room.

   He turned one or two corners, then found a likely looking door to bang on, and bang on it he did. He pounded with both hands against the white wooden door, desperation making him dizzy.

   “Alright!” came a voice from inside, but Alex didn’t relent until the door was thrown inwards. “Hey, hey, _alright?”_ demanded Seamus Finnigan, a slice of toast in one hand and a can of beer in the other. Sir Woofsalot darted between their legs, shooting straight into Seamus’ spacious apartment with its views over Galway city, or what looked like Galway at any rate.

   Alex didn’t pause, he just raced after the puppy, who had raced straight into Seamus’ workroom. Seamus charged in after them, mouth open to give them both a piece of his mind. But then he saw the monitors.

   Every single wall in the workroom was stacked floor to ceiling with television screens; old and new, large and small, Technicolor, black and white and even some in sepia. Each screen would only hold its image for a few seconds before changing, and in ordinary circumstances it was nonsensical to Alex and made his head hurt. But today the people and places on those screens seemed to convey an undeniable vision of clarity.

   Seamus’ beer can dropped to the floor. “What have you done?”he breathed out in horror, much in the same manner as Alex had when he’d seen the first note from the pigeon.

   “It wasn’t me!” cried Alex, slapping his chest with his hands. “It just happened, I don’t know, I don’t know!”

   There was a small coffee table in the middle of the room, and on it a single remote control. Seamus shoved the rest of his peanut butter and toast into his mouth and seized the clicker, jamming at the buttons like a mad man.   “This. Is,” he said punctuating each word with a click of the remote. “Not. _Good!”_

   The images whirled in front of Alex’s eyes, and Woofsy leant into shin uncertainly. Seamus suddenly dropped the remote and lurched into the living room again, grabbing his trainers from the bay window sill and hopping into them without bothering about the laces. Alex and Sir Woofsalot were already hurling back out into the corridor, and the bang of the door told them Seamus was right behind.

   The two men and the dog pelted down the corridor, their feet slapping on the shiny marble. The troll janitor was up ahead, polishing the floor with one of those big buffering machines reminiscent of a street-sweeper, and singing Eurythmics off key but enthusiastically. He didn’t even seem to notice as the two Watchers sprinted by him, or as Sir Woofsalot took a bite at the spinning cloth buffer.

   It was only a minute or two before they reached Jia’s office, but Alex felt like it had been hours since he’d seen his pigeon’s first message. He and Seamus piled into the office without stopping to knock, and came upon a startled Jia and one of her other Watchers, obviously mid-report.

   The older Chinese woman stared at her two co-workers in shock, a mug of coffee halfway to her lips. The other Watcher, a vampire Alex guessed by how pale she was and the way she eyed their pulsating necks hungrily, looked very annoyed at being interrupted. She wore a long black lacy dress, black gloves and considerable amounts of black eyeliner, which Alex might have thought of as being clichéd if for one, he cared, and two, he hadn’t spotted the scruffy looking red trainers poking out from under her skirt.

   “I’m in a meeting?” stated Jia bemused, her head darting between the two Watchers on their feet as the vampire made a growling noise. But Alex didn’t say anything, and neither did Seamus. Words wouldn’t do it justice, Jia would sense the vibrations now they were, feel what was wrong in the air soon enough.

   Her face dropped, her coffee mug slipping from her fingers and breaking on the floor, thick brown ooze splattering on the linoleum. “What?” she hissed, hastily turning to her battered old computer monitor, which was already facing the vampire Watcher. In moments the screen flicked several times as windows were opened and closed, until there before them all was the map of the universe branches, glowing blue like a winter-starved tree against the black emptiness of the background.

   The curser flew over the lines, tracing the possible outcomes as they twisted and turned. Jia’s index finger that wasn’t clicking the mouse followed the paths, darting this way and that. Until she found the problem.

   Both her hands dropped to either side of her wheely chair, and she gawped at Alex and Seamus incredulously. Sir Woofsalot whimpered.

   _“What!”_ she hollered. _“Have you DONE?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Alex and Seamus are not having a good day. Find out what happens next in Book Three, What Dreams May Come!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading so far, please remember to leave kudus and review! <3 Hxxx


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